Thankfulness is three minutes and a reset button

I have been busy.  Life has been suffocating.  That’s playing it conservatively with my adjectives. 

Today in the car I took in a deep breath and asked the kids to shut it for at least 10 minutes.  I don’t do that.  I rarely demand silence and if I do they never listen.  They are verbal creatures who were born conjugating verbs. The worst discipline I could deliver is to take away their right of speech which, is why they never allow it to happen.

Thankfully,  I am the master at dissociating.  I hear the squeals.  I feel the vibration of their wails but I am happy because I mentally teleport myself to a sunny place filled with waves, salty air and lots of humus.  I would remain there longer if I could but humus makes me drool.  The splashing of the drool on my lap is my check back to reality.  If my mouth is dried out from last night’s Tylenol PM then one of my trio breaks into my mental mirage to ask “Mom, why do you have that unstable smile on your face?”

Today my mind was full.  I couldn’t transport to humus island.  I couldn’t think.  I couldn’t drool.  I could only hear the high pitch voices and sibling teasing.  I think they saw the crazy in my eyes.  I think they knew that if they didn’t zip it then bad things would happen.  For the first time EVER, they were quiet.  No one moved.  Breathing (with the exception of mine) was kept to a near pass out minimum. 

I inhaled and prayed and exhaled and prayed.  Peace came and it was great.  I  felt like we were bathing in an eternity of silence.  I looked at the clock expecting the passing of a good 10-15 minutes.  I’m not good at predicting time.  I die a daily death on my elliptical and a minute always feels like 10.  But this time, in the car, THREE minutes had passed.  Three minutes of silent bliss.  Three minutes to allow me to decompress.  I am thankful for those three simple minutes. 

I thought about torturing my verbal addicts for another 7 minutes of silence.  I smiled a stable, calculating smile at the thought.  Then I released them from their verbal prison.  They emerged cautiously and carefully.  Our situation had been reset and I think I just discovered a new reset button.

The three minute reset button is still working several hours later.  I just happened to glance over my shoulder while typing and saw this chillaxin’ sight:

I'm too chill for the stress pill Mom

 I supressed my laughter while carefully moving in for a closer look. I discovered this waiting for me:

You can't camera sneak on me mom...I'm ready for you!

  I’ll take another three minutes please……


16 responses to “Thankfulness is three minutes and a reset button

  1. My husband and I still play the “Jinx” game, and I never have more to say then when I’m under Jinx and not allowed to speak. It literally pains me.

    Here’s to blissful silence and a reset button. We could all use one of those now and then.

  2. How about every day!! Give me a reset button like the EASY stables button. I’d wear that baby out!

  3. I love it when they get the “mom is gonna lose it vibe” they can be pretty smart when it comes to saving their own lives sometimes huh?

  4. Oh I LOVE that last picture – too funny, little sneaky one.

    I can relate to everything about this post. Truly. Good for you for doing what you needed to do to get reset and for your kids granting you three minutes of much-needed peace.

    Also, time slows when you’re on the elliptical. It’s science.

  5. I feel your pain…I sometimes have a minor meltdown when we get home from work and find that nobody’s emptied the dishwasher, all the electronics are cranked, and I still have to cook…I also have an extreme sensitivity to any unnecessary noise (which I’ve apparently passed on to my grown daughter)…

    Hope you can get those precious minutes of silence you need…


  6. Haha hummus island! Well it is a good thing you didn’t have to do crazy…or did you haha

  7. Dear Hummus Islander,
    This was a good one . Ididn’t expect to see number three with that pose. Luv Rox

  8. Silence is music…that’s what I always say…

  9. My mother found that locking me in the dark basement for an afternoon ususally worked. Leaves a lasting impression, let me tell you that.

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