I sat, Indian style, on the dryer in the laundry room. The warmth of the room; the pleasant smell of Bounce fabric softener; and the gentle vibration of the dryer was ALMOST enough to convince me that I was on a small island far, FAR away.
I groped for my mug of coffee- GROPED, because the light was off. The only illumination was a small stream peeking out from under the door, but this was enough to allow me to see my mug sitting between a box (dryer sheets) and a jug (detergent, most likely). I grabbed the cup and took a sip.
Whatever was going on out there, I chose ignorance and bliss over information and stress. In a house full of boys, moments like these- even stolen ones that occur in a darkened laundry room- are hard to come by. Sure, at some point I would have to come out and face the destruction. Chances are, if it was anything like every other day, there would be a fort encompassing the living room; blocks on the kitchen floor with race cars throughout; papers, pens, pencils, and crayons strewn all over the dining room table; and all of it being neglected while one or both of the older boys stands on the couch ready to do a pile-driver to their brother.
Given the fact that I already had a rough idea of what was awaiting me, I sat there and sipped my coffee in peace. I couldn't help but feel thankful that my husband bought me a coffee mug that was insulated and would keep my coffee hot for 2 hours or more. If I drank slowly, I could draw out this quiet time until...
Oh well. There goes the island.