Desperately seeking solitude

(From my 2003 column in the Frederick area Gazette newspapers)

I am writing this column while locked in the powder room. Outside these four walls stands a perfectly nice house with several rooms better suited to writing, but if I open the door, they’ll find me. No, I’m not a dangerous fugitive on the FBI’s most wanted list. Even worse. I’m a Mom.

I have just one husband, one child and one dog, but together, they’ve conspired to rob me of every shred of privacy. If I were a criminal, I would have a shot at solitary confinement. Instead, I’m a law-abiding citizen who must resort to hiding in the loo to get a moment’s peace.

Under ordinary circumstances, even the bathroom isn’t off limits. Usually my economy-sized dog follows me, supervising every bodily function and pressing her cold, wet nose against my bare flesh.

Somehow I’ve also managed to slip in under the radar of my ten-year-old daughter, Caitlyn. If she finds me, she’ll commence firing a rapid volley of questions through the bathroom door -- without hesitation and seemingly without even breathing -- until she finally comes up with something that stumps me.

"When’s Daddy coming home what’s for dinner why do I have to go to church can I watch TV when my homeworks done what does gay mean why do you have hair in your nostrils?" she might inquire at top volume.

"Seven! Leftovers! Because I said so! Maybe! Ask your father! I don't know, and LEAVE ME ALONE!" I reply. Sometimes I’ll throw in an oddball response, like "rutabagas!" or "Outer Mongolia!" just to throw her off balance.

My husband could come home, slip into the LaZBoy and read War and Peace from cover to cover without hearing a peep.

I emerge from my hiding place, and the idyllic scene of domestic tranquility ends. My previously content family suddenly requires my full attention for dinner cooking, homework helping, clothes laundering, permission-slip signing, Scholastic book ordering, bill paying, doctor’s appointment making and dog walking.

Now, don’t get me wrong -- I love my family. I would slay a dragon for them. I would take a bullet for them. I would even go on Fear Factor for them. But I would give a case of Charmin for ten blissfully uninterrupted minutes alone.

I’m thinking of entering the Witness Protection Program, but that seems a little drastic. What I need is a better hiding place. With a lawn chair, some cheerful paint and a padlock, the walk-in closet might just do the trick!