We desperately needed ink, really

There are times in Mommyhood that you just have to get away. I wrote all about the struggles of this *raises arms to sides to indicate my whole life* (I know you couldn't see me do that, but I totally did just to prove this point to myself) and how I knew the next time I got overwhelmed I was just going to run away for a while.

And I did. Last night.

It was one of those days where it looked beautiful outside, until I opened the door and it was just a really sunny 20 degree morning. It killed any motivation I had, and that's been the theme of winter since about mid-January. I opted not to go to the gym, and then because of that the TV was on all day, and the kids were obnoxious and whiny because we hadn't left the house. By the time 5 p.m. rolled around I was ready to escape and just needed the Boy to get home.

The "please eat your dinner" fight had happened at that point. The "I need a break" text had been sent. The "I'm just going to fling the fridge open and cry because my toddler life is ruined by your not having anything I want" was in full effect. Here, allow me to show you:

I generally think I'm a good mom and try really hard to not post shit like my kids throwing major tantrums to the Internet, but I think we can all agree that this image was a deal breaker. She'd just gotten up from a short nap and was miserable, and when she's like that she doesn't want to be touched, talked to, looked at or breathed near. So I let her throw her tantrum with the refrigerator doors wide open while I quietly prayed my husband would come home on time. Then I texted him the photo and continued staring at my computer while trying to write after having that process interrupted, only to realize Brian and Stella were going to have to wait because now I had to stop being a writer and be a mom ... and I can't even begin to tell you how much that hurt. Like, stopping the creative process physically hurt and I felt like doing exactly what Charlotte is doing in this photo.

I got the break I needed. As much as I'd like to say it's because we needed ink for the printer and needed it yesterday, like fire alarm emergency needed it, we really didn't because I wasn't planning to print anything until the weekend when I might have time to do a second read on a project I'm working on with a friend. But then all of the above happened and we needed ink immediately.

So I ran away last night. I hit Dunkin Donuts for my trusty "toasted almond black, medium" before heading to Staples. I wandered every single aisle of that store so thankful to be doing something non-mom related this week. When I couldn't wander anymore without getting strange looks, I purchased my ink and a binder and left for Barnes & Noble, the promised land if you will.

For lovers of print media, there is nothing better for the soul than walking into a working pressroom or a bookstore. I don't have the first option anymore - haven't for some time - but the second is a readily available fix for my problems, and one I rarely take advantage of.

I'm fairly certain the moment I walked into the store last night and breathed in the smells of paperbacks and ink I was able to let go of the stress that had been building all week. It's cleansing. It's purifying. It's nerdy, yes, but you can't tell me you get the same release looking at your library of ebooks on your Kindle or Nook.

I took my time, slowly walking along each row of books, down one side and then the other, before moving on. I sought out my favorite authors, I looked at the newer releases, I sighed audibly when I held a copy of "Go Ask Alice" in my hand.

My dream job? Bookstore owner/author. Since first grade. It doesn't matter that I had my heart set on being a marine biologist and then a veterinarian. Always steady, always there were books and the stories I could lose myself in. That's why I ultimately changed my college major from biology to English, and then added Communication Studies, and consequently went into journalism when I realized I had trouble being a creative writer.

But being in journalism only made me want the time to be creative more than I had ever wanted it before.

I've missed books. I've missed actual hold them in my hands and smell the pages books. I love my electronic readers and apps on my phone - they make sitting in a dark bedroom with an overtired angry child battling bedtime a little more bearable because I can lose myself in someone else's reality for a while - but they're never going to replace the feeling and the rush I get from holding a new book and fanning the pages in front of my nose.

I didn't need to buy anything last night. I have plenty of books sitting on the shelf in the living room waiting for me to thumb their pages and cry on them, but retail therapy needed to happen regardless. That's how you feed an addiction.

And I am addicted to the written word.