Every so often I come across a woman (sometimes a mother, sometimes not) who will tell me how she doesn't know how I don't go crazy being home with my kids. How she'd go insane if she stayed in her house more than half the day.
I have to say, well we just don't understand each other. I for one can't understand how she doesn't go insane being out in the world so much.
I love my home. I love being home with my kids. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be shut up in the house for the rest of my life. I love going out; I really love coming back, too.
Regularly, I get to the point. You know the one- "I must get out of this house without children or I'm going to explode!" Yeah, that one. On days like that, I go run an errand when Bret gets home or after the kids go to bed. That's all it takes. Out in public: where the air smells like cigarettes, the strangers around me swear like it's going out of style, grumpy people glare at me just because I'm there, family members yell at each other. Yeah, 30 minutes of that and I'm scampering back home as fast as my minivan will take me (within the speed limit of course:))!
Maybe the trick is to go to a park and get a few good swings in, instead of heading out where cranky people are running their errands, too...
But on the whole, I'll take being home any day.