It’s glorious.

My eyes sweep miles of gleaming shoreline in disbelief. I am completely alone. I melt into the sand with an embarrassingly loud sigh, grains slipping around my fingers and toes. I breathe deeply, filling up with sea air and silence. No obligations. No needs to meet.

I could stay here forever.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

What the…? The jarring sound of a garbage truck backing up pierces the silence. I turn my head to look, but the beach starts to dissolve around me.

NO! I grasp at the sand, but instead, my fingers brush faded, worn couch fabric.

Only a dream.

I grudgingly peel open my eyes. My cheek is pooled in a slumbering mass on the couch cushion. Right where my toddler was just bouncing. Naked. Gross.

I glance at my phone. 10:28 A.M. 36 minutes since I last checked. It’s so quiet. I must have drifted off. I yawn again, reveling in the silence—such a rare gift with three littles under 6.

SILENCE?!

I explode from the couch in a panic. “GIRLS?!” I shriek in unhinged desperation. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” Silence. “Um…Are you hiding?!” I add a chuckle to the end of my question to dispel my panic. Instead, I sound like should be chasing them through the house with a meat clever.

My eyes spot the ever-so-slightly ajar front door. My heart stops. WHAT IF THEY’RE SQUASHED IN THE STREET?!

No. I would have heard sirens. Breathe. I peek out, reassured that my precious babies are not, in fact, pancakes on the road.

Rustle, rustle.

I freeze. Sounds of movement from downstairs! “Girls?” I fly down the steps.

Silence—too quiet to possibly hide three littles.

“Is she gone?” I hear the unmistakably loud kid-whisper of my 5-year-old coming from behind the utility room door.

“I fink she is left!” Squeaks toddler #1.

“Weft!” Shouts toddler #2.

Immediately, I’m drowning in ferocious relief and fury. THEY’RE ALL ALIVE! THEY’RE HIDING! I’M GONNA KILL THEM! Then, I hear the distinct sound of water pouring, along with rippling giggles. AND they are making a mess?!

Furiously, I fling open the door. Then freeze. And stare.

Her giant 5-year-old eyes stare back from where she squats, her leggings and My Little Pony underwear pooled around her ankles.

Beneath her, a giant wet patch spreads incriminatingly across the cat litter box.