Friday, 21 December 2012

Sometimes I hide away from my kids

Sometimes I hide away from my kids
20 December 2012

Yes, I know.  I am a horrible person.  Occasionally I hide away from my kids.  So shoot me!  I’m only human.

I don’t hide in a difficult place where it’s hard to find me.  No, not at all.  I practically hide in plain sight.  Well, sort of.  Put it this way, my kids actually know my exact location when I’ve gone in hiding.  It’s hardly a secret.  However, what is a secret, is the lie I tell them when I’m hiding. 

Yes, yes, I know.  Lying is bad too.  So shoot me!  As mentioned before, I’m only human.

The trick with lying to your kids is in ensuring that you never get caught out in a lie.  Because that would be dreadfully bad.  As in really bloody awful.  It is very difficult being all pious and “lying is very bad” when you do it yourself.  And get caught in the act.  Red handed so to speak.  It completely ruins your good parent mojo.

So, this is my modus operandi.  I tell my kids that I “quickly” have to go to the loo.  Then I very sedately, yet filled with anticipation, practically waltz down the passage into my bedroom.  That would be my en suite bedroom – conveniently with a bathroom excuse “on tap” so to speak.  Wicked, I know.

So the question is this – do I then proceed with my ablutions?  Dear heavens, no!  I never even needed to go in the first place.  Firstly, I lock my bedroom room, ensuring my safety.  And then, and only then, once I’ve assured my privacy, I flop down on my bed and just lie there for a few minutes.  Not a long lie.  Definitely not a sleep.  Just a few quick minutes – perhaps five or so.  Sometimes I read, but mostly I just lie.  I take my glasses off and look out at the green hazy and very blurry view outside my bedroom window.  The little creeping “vineyard” that grows on the veranda.  Nothing is defined due to my lack of spectacles, but I know exactly what it is none the less.  The sunlight dapples through and the blurry green mass flutters and moves in the wind.  I stretch out fully and fling my arms wide above my head, taking up as much space as possible on the bed.  Sharing and economy of movement is the last thing on my mind. 

So what do I do then?  I just lie.  I let my mind drift.  I breath in and out.  I think happy thoughts.  I rejoice in nothingness.  In not being needed.  In not being busy.  In not rushing.  In just being.

Oh my kids have a little radar.  All three of them.  A radar, coupled to an alarm that goes off the very instant I’m not available to them.  And following the triggering of their alarm, they will come and knock on my door – a few times.  All three of them usually.  To which, I quite calmly reply – “I’m busy – I’ll be with you just now”.  This of course barring a life and death crises.  And perhaps even then, they’ll get the same “I’m busy – I’ll be with you just now” response.  It tends to work like a charm.  Alternatively, if they don’t get the message, I blatantly and shamelessly ignore them.  They always “know” what I’m doing when I’m in my room and my door is locked.  They think I’ve gone to the loo.  Works every time.

The thing is this.  Sometimes I just need a break.  Even just a little one can leave me feeling a bit more refreshed and ready to take on the world and three kids once more.

So do I feel guilty for both hiding from my kids and lying to them?  Hell no!  Not even one little drop.  This is the only occasion where I bend the truth a bit.  Honesty is key and of the utmost importance.  It forms the basis of mutual trust and respect.

Well, perhaps I’m not being entirely truthful here.  Because although this is the one and only instance where I continually lie to my kids, there are a few other grey areas too.  But maybe they are not lying as such.  More an altering of the truth to protect the innocent.

Like when I tell them “no, we would never eat chocolates and biltong without you” – we all know that chocolates are bad for their teeth and health and that biltong is raw meat – just saying.  So I’m actually protecting them.  Or when I say to them “I don’t think you should have prawns and crayfish – children never like them – you could get seafood poisoning”.  Hey, it is sort of true.  And the fact that it leaves more for Grant and I to enjoy is pure coincidence.  Or when I say “Mommy and Daddy are so tired.  We’re just going to go for a little nap…….”

So see!  It’s a kindness really.  The truth would freak them out.



  1. You're my hero! Love sooo much that you do this for yourself. (though actually it's for them...they just don't know it yet! x

  2. You're my hero! Love sooo much that you do this for yourself. (though actually it's for them...they just don't know it yet! x

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