My eyes sweep miles of gleaming shoreline in disbelief. I am completely alone. I melt into the sand with an embarrassingly loud sigh, grains slipping around my fingers and toes. I breathe deeply, filling up with sea air and silence. No obligations. No needs to meet.
I could stay here forever.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
What the…? The jarring sound of a garbage truck backing up pierces the silence. I turn my head to look, but the beach starts to dissolve around me.
NO! I grasp at the sand, but instead, my fingers brush faded, worn couch fabric.
Only a dream.
I grudgingly peel open my eyes. My cheek is pooled in a slumbering mass on the couch cushion. Right where my toddler was just bouncing. Naked. Gross.
I glance at my phone. 10:28 A.M. 36 minutes since I last checked. It’s so quiet. I must have drifted off. I yawn again, reveling in the silence—such a rare gift with three littles under 6.
SILENCE?!
I explode from the couch in a panic. “GIRLS?!” I shriek in unhinged desperation. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” Silence. “Um…Are you hiding?!” I add a chuckle to the end of my question to dispel my panic. Instead, I sound like should be chasing them through the house with a meat clever.
My eyes spot the ever-so-slightly ajar front door. My heart stops. WHAT IF THEY’RE SQUASHED IN THE STREET?!
No. I would have heard sirens. Breathe. I peek out, reassured that my precious babies are not, in fact, pancakes on the road.
Rustle, rustle.
I freeze. Sounds of movement from downstairs! “Girls?” I fly down the steps.
Silence—too quiet to possibly hide three littles.
“Is she gone?” I hear the unmistakably loud kid-whisper of my 5-year-old coming from behind the utility room door.
“I fink she is left!” Squeaks toddler #1.
“Weft!” Shouts toddler #2.
Immediately, I’m drowning in ferocious relief and fury. THEY’RE ALL ALIVE! THEY’RE HIDING! I’M GONNA KILL THEM! Then, I hear the distinct sound of water pouring, along with rippling giggles. AND they are making a mess?!
Furiously, I fling open the door. Then freeze. And stare.
Her giant 5-year-old eyes stare back from where she squats, her leggings and My Little Pony underwear pooled around her ankles.
Beneath her, a giant wet patch spreads incriminatingly across the cat litter box.
Kiki Wilde Giuliani 