Picture it.  A booth at a restaurant. Four moms enjoying a hot meal and a glass of wine. Then it happens.

::buzz:: ::buzz::

They all glance at their phones. Their fingers flying over the keys answering a text.

The text.

A Grande Life | When Will You Be Home

When will I be home? You have got to be kidding. I’ve had this Moms’ Night Out planned for weeks now and you want to know when I’ll be home?!

I see you all nodding your head in agreement. Happens every damn time, doesn’t it?

If it’s the not the husband or significant other, it’s the sitter. If it’s not the sitter, it’s the kids themselves.

When you ask me “when will you be home?”, my eye starts twitching and I start feeling stabby. Can’t a girl have a hot meal and a glass of wine without having the pressure of “When will you be home?”  Can’t a mom have a few hours to herself? We barely ever get to have a few hours to ourselves. Hell, I’m lucky to get a few minutes to pee alone every day!

When will you be home?

I will be home after every last crumb of cheesecake crosses my lips.

I will be home when I’m done dishing about The Bachelor: who got a rose, who should have gotten a rose, and damn that bitch is crazy!

It’s bad enough that we already feel a little bit {a teeny bit} guilty for being out in the first place. Mom guilt. We are already thinking about all the what if’s we have absolutely no control over: what if they miss me, what if they misbehave for the sitter, what if they get hurt, what if their father puts on the wrong pajamas?!. We don’t need the incessant “when will you be home?” to add to our already over obsessing mom guilt.

So to answer your question,  I’ll be home when I get home.

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