Our Mother's Day tradition is for The Man to take the childs away for a few hours while I get to do things that I would do if I didn't have children.
The being without childs, of course, leads me to non-essential arty/crafty activities, where I stitch things that are, theoretically, for children*, the kind I am pretending I do not have. There is no way for me to stitch these dolls for children with actual live children floating about me. I simply can not apply the intention to get the job done.
All the irony.
Since nobody is here to interrupt me, or save me from myself, I end up spending too much time hunched over a small object, squinting at small stitches, and I end up with a terrible crick in my neck, the likes I haven't experienced since my youngest was a toddler who refused to be put to sleep in any other way than being held and walk about for an hour. Doll making may be a expression of post traumatic stress disorder?
I like to turn on Youtube for music and sometimes listen to podcasts, like the new horror mystery Alice Isn't Dead, because, although I crave it, I'm unaccustomed to quiet. And I'm on episode three, when Alice is brutally finding out what the noise is that has been coming from the trailer and I realize I'm all alone, listening to a scary story, and- what's that noise in the basement?!
Suddenly, the doll I'm stitching looks less merry and more sinister. I worry about my inability to make playthings for children that aren't unsettling to small people. Like the kind I have but am pretending I don't have as a treat to me.
I'm pretty sure the noise was the cats in the basement. Which makes me feel guilty about the cat box down there I should probably clean.
This is me, two hours into separation from my offspring, when the switch flips from, 'I hope they don't come back soon,' to, 'goodness, where are those kids? I need them here now.'
Perhaps I can get them to clean the cat box?
Pictures of the dolls that children inspire: http://dollyshoptheatre.tumblr.com/