Phone Calls From The Edge

This morning I took a call from a dear friend who was so hungry for conversation with anyone who remembered her real name was not "Mommy-can-I?", that she was huddled in her frozen garage with the lights off in the hopes that the children wouldn't find her.  When she whispered where she was I couldn't help but be a little jealous that I don't have a garage; it would be the perfect place to have a kid free phone call.  Mothers everywhere know exactly what I'm taking about, sometimes you desperately need to talk to someone without having a little person stand in front of you crying, tattling, begging or babbling.  My personal goal is to be able to call someone without having to also wipe someone's bum at the same time.  I'm not sure what kind of radar Jack has, but if he hears me talking on the phone he runs to the bathroom and minutes later starts yelling for assistance.  I guess I shouldn't complain about that because it's actually worse when he comes to me, turns around with a full moon, saying "Mommy, wipe."  And no matter how casual I try to be, there's always an awkward pause from the person on the other end of the phone call when I murmur "bend over and stop wiggling."  I HAVE to explain what I'm doing at this point and unless I'm on the phone with another mother, I sense a sad wave of pity rolling over the line.  I know.  I try not to think about it too much or I'll go mad.

So, this morning we spoke about everyday things; a mutual friend's health, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner, and where to get a dress altered for an upcoming wedding.  But you would have thought we were passing along state secrets by the way we were acting.  I say we because of course I was whispering back to her, have you ever tried to talk normally to someone who is hiding?  It cannot be done.  You may start out with the intention of remaining aloof, but eventually you will realize that you are speaking in hushed tones too.  The simple fear of exposure is contagious and I couldn't help but hold my breath along with her when she hissed "SHH! They're getting close...".

When enough time had passed that she was confident of retaining her sanity if she returned to the fray, she emerged from the darkness of her cell, hand shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a beautiful Saturday morning to find that her 2 year old had given himself full sleeves of permanent sharpie ink.  Was this worth the 15 minutes of self imposed exile to speak with someone who understands how she just needed to hear a friendly voice in the midst of chaos?  Absolutely.  Besides, it was a lifesaving measure.  The kid was eventually going to draw on himself anyway and by taking the time-out she was calm enough that she didn't kill him.  I'm probably going to save my children's lives next week when I call my friend from the suffocating darkness of my closet to ask for her mother's russian tea cakes recipe.