The Runaway

Running away from home. I’m sure we all threatened it at least once as children. I know I said it to my parents more than once . (Of course, I couldn’t run far because I wasn’t allowed to cross the street by myself.)                                                

Occasionally in the news I hear about a woman that disappeared. I don’t mean the women that suffer a blow to the head from a falling tower of garden hoses at Walmart and just wander off. I’m not talking about women who are being abused and leave to escape from that abuse (instead of doing a burning bed kind of thing). I don’t refer to the women that have (God forbid) been abducted by a serial killer or met some other grisly end.  No, I mean the women that one day lock up their house and just walk away from their (seemingly) wonderful life.

You know who I mean. The woman that has a nice house, nice (or at least not piece of shit) car, nice children, and a nice husband. The woman that volunteers at school, at church, and in the community. The woman that can be called upon to bake two dozen cupcakes at a moment’s notice. The woman that is willing to pick up a friend’s kids because the friend is stuck in line at Kroger. The woman that is always happy to help everyone else. In short, the woman that is probably each of us (at least in some way).

I always wonder what the final thing was that made them leave, the straw that broke the Mommy’s back, so to speak.  Was it the 50,343^rd pair of dirty underwear they picked up off of the living room floor? Was it the water a child sprayed all over the kitchen that their husband promised to clean up but didn’t? Was it the 35^th time they tried to pay at Kroger ( with two cranky toddlers in tow) only to find their wallet missing after a child took it out of their purse looking for money for library fines? Was it the sight of the umpteenth unrinsed bowl? Was it the requested spaghettios lunch being thrown to the floor and different food demanded? Was it the millionth time she tried to poop alone, only to be disturbed by a child asking her to, well, do anything? Was it the 500,000,000^th load of laundry? Was it picking up the thrown (and leaking) sippy cup or pacifier ONE MORE TIME? Was it in fact none of those things? Was it really just that she wanted more than two minutes alone to do something for herself other than maintaining basic bodily functions?

I don’t know what it was for those women. Because for the few that come back, even if they are asked why they left and where they went, they are not allowed to answer publicly to Matt, Ann, Kathie Lee, or any of the other morning show talking heads. No, they are whisked away to “be evaluated” and “rest”. As if running away automatically means they were crazy! I think they are not allowed to answer publicly because their answers might prompt a rash of women vanishing for a few weeks to hang out in a luxury hotel and “spoil” themselves by NOT watching hours of cartoons every day, and sleeping all they want.

Today is one of those days I would like to run away from home. Of course, if I ran away I would miss the kids (and eventually DH) terribly. So, I’m not running away, yet. But who knows, one more wet towel to pick up off the floor and you might see my photo on the news with the caption “Disappeared.” Don’t worry though, the 5 star hotel will be lovely and I’ll think of you fondly while I’m having a mani-pedi and sipping cocktails poolside. So, what would YOU say to the morning crew if you ran away from home? (Assuming you returned.)