I am waiting for my Dad.

Actually, I have been waiting for him all day. He assured me he would be here first thing in the morning to snow blow my driveway after our monstrous dumping of snow yesterday and last night but it’s now well past one o’clock and he still hasn’t shown. Luckily, I don’t have anywhere I need to be today. And even luckier, if I did, my car has four wheel drive.

I am waiting for a woman named Tanya.

No, not frogfenatic. I miss her, though. I know she’s busy blogging over at blogster but I don’t make it over there pretty much at all.

The Tanya I am waiting for works for some division of the finance department of the government of Ontario. I called them this morning and spoke to two other representatives about cancelling a very small benefit I receive every month. I guess they don’t often get calls from people with little Jiminy Crickets in the backs of their minds because after explaining everything to two people (and only after playing the “press one, press two, press THIS” game for a while and then waiting on hold for another while), I got a call from Tanya and had to return her call and so yeah, I’m waiting for her, too.

It’s sick because I’m trying to do a good thing. The honest thing. And it’s turning out to be a pain in the ass.

But while I wait and put off packing the kids up for their weekend with Rock (tomorrow is a PA day so all three little beasties will be home and I don’t want the extra hassle of packing for them while they’re bombing around) until the laundry is finished in the dryer and drink my hot chocolate (how do you know Janet is pregnant? She drinks hot chocolate like it’s about to expire) I thought that I would try to sort some of my thoughts out. And as usual pour moi, I’m taking you all down with me. Ha.

I am not a people who needs people. Never really have been. I am not a social butterfly. More of a wallflower than anything. And while I am a “people person” in that I can talk to anyone after years and years of working in the customer service field, I have always identified with a line from a Jann Arden song I’m fond of…

“I can hear myself breathing and be quite amused.”

I like being alone.

Blogging has really been the exception for me. Here, I am fairly open and social and I’ve been fortunate enough to make some amazing friends in the process and even snagged me a fella while I was at it. But generally speaking, I’m a loner. And I’m happy that way.

So, it’s really strange that right now, I’m really not looking forward to being alone for the weekend.

Strange in that when I thought back about it, this is only the second time that Rock has stuck to the “every second weekend” arrangement since we started it in September. This is only the second time in those months that his visits with the kids have been consistent. The last time before that, I believe, was in the fall. He has used any and every excuse to recant on his weekend responsibilities. He has snagged every opportunity to have two or three or even four weekends in a row without the kids. And no, that doesn’t mean that I get two kid-free weekends in a row. I tried forcing him to do that a few months ago and the plan was quickly sabotaged as he managed to get out of half of that weekend.

This, obviously, means that in between, I’m solely responsible and I don’t get any break from the children at all. If I get an hour in the two weeks to myself, it’s a rare treat and I treat it that way. It’s kinda like one of my very first posts on Blogster. I talked about the curse of three children and the secret to managing motherhood of three…nobody will ever be happy all at the same time and nobody will ever take all three of them at the same time. It’s no less true now than it was then which is kinda funny but also really not.

My point is that I get sick of them. Oh, I love them! Don’t get me wrong. I love my children very, very much and I like them on most days, too. But I do get overwhelmed by them at times and I look forward to my sporadic weekends alone. As a mother of three, I am always looking forward to being alone.

I look forward to the “me” time.

Usually.

But not now.

This time around, when I think about a weekend of solitude, I get shivers. And I feel the unbelievable urge to surround myself with people and activity and conversation. I made plans to visit my sister on Sunday to celebrate her birthday which is today and I felt good about the prospects of seeing her, but I also felt relieved. And while that might not seem like such a big deal, it’s really out of character for me.

Saturday is still wide open. I need an oil change at some point. And I am down to literally my last bra and can’t put off buying them any longer. I am downright hateful when it comes to bra shopping. It is the curse of having large breasts. I long to be one of those women who can just pluck a bra off of a hanger and know it will fit. I long to have a “regular” size that means pretty or funky patterned bras are less than ten dollars are available. For me, bra shopping involves twenty to thirty bras and a fitting room. Sometimes there are tears involved. I have to try them all on and this makes me crabby because I absolutely hate trying pretty much anything on. Out of those twenty, I will be lucky if I find one or two that fit and are acceptable. And they won’t be ten dollars, I can tell you that.

There are things to do. But I will do them all alone.

And this time…just this once…I don’t want to.