I Ate Dinner in the Dark. (cont'd)

You can imagine the howling, wailing and gnashing of toddler teeth.

My husband left our bedroom and came down from studying. Somehow, he managed to corral the kids into the living room while I finished cooking. But before he left me, he did something magical. (Now, I've seen him do this before but never really acknowledged the merits of this action. I am a true believer now.) He put up the baby gate. Yes, he gated our children away from me and the kitchen.

Two pitiful little faces stood at the entrance to the kitchen and wailed, "MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA!" in an off-tune, minor key while I whisked from sink to oven to counter to sink. And what a magical time it was for me! No little bodies underfoot. No one clinging to my legs. No one trying to physically turn me away from what I was doing so they could yell, "UP! UP!! UP!!!!" at me while giving me puppy-dog-eyes.

Once their plates were ready, I handed them to my husband over the baby gate and began putting up the leftovers, labeling the containers for the freezer and did a bit of clean up. I did all this while he fed them. I was safely ensconced in the baby-gated kitchen.

Then, I sat down in a corner away from the door and hid.

The kids were done eating and were clamoring for me once again but I didn't make a peep. They stood at the baby gate with their little faces pressed against the chicken-wire style barrier. Their little noses poked through and tried to sniff me out but I remained perfectly still and held my breath.

As my husband leaned over the gate to put the dirty dishes on the counter, he caught sight of me and asked, "Uh... whatcha gonna do?"

Who? Me? The one hiding in the corner? "I'm going to eat my dinner in peace and quiet."

He might have grunted or said something but I don't remember what it was because I was already escaping to a fantasy world of solitude and serenity.

From time to time, my daughter, Josie, would come running back to the baby gate, crying, trying to find me. That's when I decided it was time to turn off the lights. So I did!

I sat in the dark and ate my dinner.

Suddenly, the cool soft wind of the ceiling fan was a soothing Mediterranean ocean breeze. My sneaky-sweet-potato marinara and pasta was a rustic Sicilian meal. The sounds of my husband singing "Da duh da duh daduh daduh" to the tune of "Cliffs of Dover" was a group of sultry troubadours crooning to me. The soft glow from my neighbor's back porch light was a full moon, big enough to reach up and grab.

It was a wonderful, seven-and-a-half minute fantasy.

Sharon is a stay at home mom of two young children. Sharon spends most days trying to control the chaos and experience the delights and humor of motherhood. Most days, you'll find her with a good book or three tucked in various corners of the house. She's a voracious reader, loves to write and is looking for the perfect hobby.