I've made several trips out of the house alone in the last few weeks. These days, even five minutes alone in the car is cause for wild celebration. Granted, I usually find myself singing along with some kids CD and calculating where the restroom is at the next stop, but once I get past that, I get a little thrill from the prospect of it all.

Typing that makes me sound rather pathetic, doesn't it? But look, for a stay-at-home-mom with at least one child present at all times, the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts is nirvana. Most of the time, being in my brain is akin to driving over speedbumps. I'm having linear thoughts, doo-dee-doo-dee-doo, and then I have to downshift and bounce my way over something completely non-related before I can return to what I was thinking before. Not your ordinary tangents, either. I am thinking about what groceries I need, and then I'm talking about the late Jurassic period, and then I'm slicing an apple, and then I switch the laundry. I find the pink socks, and break up a fight over plastic farm animals. And then it's back to groceries, except I don't remember why we need to go today, only that I'm going to have to take all three kids with me, and that we're out of something important.

Perhaps my sanity.

Multi-tasking has never been a strong suit of mine. I am too easily distracted. In the course of trying to write this entry, I've made toast, another cup of coffee to replace the one that went cold when I abandoned it in the bathroom, pulled out playdough, made more toast, turned on two different shows on TiVo and answered three phone calls. It's like trying to tap dance while being pelted with tomatoes. I'm dancing, but it ain't pretty.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Being alone. Nirvana. Riiiiiight.

I've had the luxury of attending several different doctor's appointments with no children. I am the weary veteran of countless prenatal and child health-related visits with one or more children in the stroller, sitting on my hip, or otherwise present and making their presence known. To the entire building. You know you've earned your mothering stripes when you've kept two toddlers amused while getting a pelvic exam.

I found myself sitting in the waiting room jittering, because I'm so accustomed to running around trying to keep the kids happy that I didn't know what to do with myself. I tried to read a magazine. In the end, I just held the magazine as cover while I checked out the other people in the room. Everyone was grumpy, because the doctors were running late. Not me. I was amusing myself making up stories about everyone. I passed an enjoyable hour in the company of people who didn't need a thing from me. By the end of my appointment, I was relaxed and at peace. I felt like 'me' again.

After my appointment, I had to rush home to my kids. The wall of sound hit me as I crossed the threshold, shattering my serenity into a million pieces. I gathered my wits and pulled my three monsters onto the couch. We snuggled and read some books together. At first, there was dissention in the ranks. They jockied for position, lobbied for 'their' book to be first.

Oh, but then. All the chaos quieted down. The stress evaporated. The soft weight of my son's cheek on my arm, the sound of my youngest sucking her thumb absent-mindedly, the halting voice of my oldest, reading an unfamiliar word...instead of ricocheting around the house, meeting their needs, I pulled them closer. A gentleness settled over us. They gave me little kisses and were reluctant to leave my side.

I know that there will be silence in my future. I know that the years ahead will bring solitary times. But reaching a moment of quiet harmony with my children is the peace that truly warms my soul, and allows my hopes to take wing.