I’m no animal expert, but I understand that one animal becomes afraid and other animals sense this and react according to their natures: those at the bottom of the food chain start considering hiding or running and those at the top of the food chain begin calculating the statistical probability of having steak tartare for lunch. One zebra does not say to another, “Holy smokes! Lion at two o’clock! Run for the hills!” They just know.

I’ve long suspected that mothers exude vibes too, and their children sense them clearly. Fear is a pretty strong emotion, but so too, apparently is the joy a woman feels at the prospect of a few minutes sans children. Whether mom wants to run to the grocery store for a few items, or go out after the kids’ bedtime to a friend’s house, or simply leave the children under the doting supervision of their father while she weeds the garden, children will sense this attempt to temporarily shrug her maternal duties and will mercilously track her down.

How often have I made plans to depart for a meeting or fun activity as soon as the kids are asleep, only to have a nursing infant decide that he or she would suddenly become high-maintenance and refuse to settle down? How many times have I left sleeping children to go to the grocery store and one or more have awakened and refused to go back to sleep until mom returns? As countless as the stars, it seems…

Yesterday morning, I peeked into the den aka office aka spare bedroom aka throne room (seat of power at the computer) and saw Jenny and Peter happily amused with some toy while Fritz and his dad looked at something online. I stood in the hallway out of sight of the little ones. I used RSL to tell my husband that I was going to take a shower (woo hoo! ten minutes of peace and quiet!!). I dashed off, but by the time I got to the staircase 15 feet away, I heard my husband calling to Petey. I looked over the half wall to see my baby in hot pursuit, but momentarily distracted by his dad.

I took the stairs two at a time and went to my bedroom. I closed the door, but didn’t lock it because somebody might need to come in. I went into the bathroom. I closed the door, but didn’t lock it because somebody might need to come in. Thank goodness, the bathroom door is sticky and the kids can’t open it. Pete had been sufficiently called off scent, but Jenny took up the chase. As I was washing my hair, I could hear her knocking at the door saying, “Mommy, I need you!” Like a dog at the narrow opening to a fox’s den, she remained for five minutes impatiently demanding entry. Her stalking attracted Pete once again to the site of his quarry, and he joined her in the baying of the hounds until their father arrived a minute later to chase them off.

So, five minutes of peace and quiet. It was enough.