René

Last night as I came out to the kitchen after putting Sully to bed I asked John if he would be around if I left to take a jog (that’s right folks, I’m trying it again).

“Nope. I’m leaving.”

“What? Where?” We’re not so exciting we leave our house every day, guys. We just aren’t.

“To see my mistress.”

“What’s her name?”

“René.”

Just as I suspected. She has beautiful red hair. (I have no idea why just hearing the name René made me think of beautiful red hair, but it did).

“Well, when you get back, I’m going for a jog. And let René know I’m coming after her. You know, when I’m done jogging.”

More head shaking from John.

And then he left.

And I picked weeds while I hoped above hope I didn’t hear a peep from the boys through the open windows, because I really was ready to jog. Well, not so much ready to jog, but ready for the quiet that came with jogging. And the fact that while jogging, I wouldn’t care about the dried baby food in my hair, or the bills I needed to pay when I got back, or what I would cook for dinner tomorrow, or the milk we needed to buy for the boys, or the project I needed to finish up for work that night.

And that’s when I realized that René (even though she’s just a red-headed figment of my imagination) ― she’s got nothing on us moms.