Recently, my husband did the sweetest thing ever. I was touched beyond words, and happy, happy, happy.

He took the kids out to the supermarket – all three of them – on his own, by himself.

This meant the helper finally had an hour to clean the house and I finally had one hour to myself. Without the kids.

While he drove with a crying baby in the car and walked aimlessly down the aisles of the supermarket with three kids in tow – cos’ you can’t really buy anything when three kids fill your trolley, yes? – I spent a total of 30 seconds worrying about how things were going, another 53 seconds trying to rid that “Mama..Mama…Mama…” ringing in my ears, a few minutes getting used to the sudden silence in the house, and the remaining time sprawling on the bed, doing absolutely n.o.t.h.i.n.g.

Oooh, what bliss. Reminds of good ol’, pre-kids days like these:

Except that I didn’t check my phone or take a bubble bath. I just lay in bed, spaced and drifted in and out of sleep. I had needed that me-time desperately because this on-call 24/7 mothering duty has been consuming my entire being like wildfire and making me hot and fiery in all the wrong ways.

I spent that precious me-time hearing nothing, doing nothing, thinking nothing. Lying still and being in this state of nothingness, paradoxically, filled me. I actually felt like a battery that’s fully charged again, and all ready again to face the challenges of everyday mothering, without going snappety snap.

Not difficult to make a tired mother happy, I say. Just check me in a hotel (hurhurhur), but if that’s not possible, give me a bed and just 60 minutes.