Apparently I Am Batteries

I hid on the stairs this morning.

Not properly. I wasn’t missing. I was drinking coffee on the bottom step because nobody knew I was there.

Four whole minutes.

Glorious.

Then—

“Mum?”

Silence.

“Muuuum?”

I remained perfectly still.

I briefly wondered whether motherhood works like a T-Rex and they can’t detect you if you don’t move.

Then came the question.

“Do we have any batteries?”

Apparently I am Batteries.

I’m also Sellotape, clean socks, scissors, chargers and the woman you ask where the ketchup is while standing directly in front of the ketchup.

And here’s the weird thing.

I don’t actually want everyone to go away.

It’s Sunday. I like everyone being home. I like hearing people pottering about, doors opening, somebody laughing in another room and random conversations beginning halfway through because apparently beginnings are unnecessary in families.

I just occasionally want everyone to be here without needing me.

There’s a difference.

I want to sit naked in the garden with a coffee and, for one beautiful hour, not be responsible for locating a single object.

No spa.

No candles.

No wellness retreat.

Just me, my coffee and absolutely nobody shouting “Mum?”

Actually, make it half an hour.

I’m a realist.

Although I’ve just remembered there’s washing in the machine.

Bugger.

If everyone stopped needing you for one hour today, what would you do with it?