Mom Is Hiding

My kids will straight-up ignore me for hours.

I can suggest crafts.
I can offer snacks.
I can initiate a heartfelt family moment.

Nothing.

But the second I try to use the facilities? Suddenly, I am the most fascinating person in the house.

“Mom. Mom. MOM. Where are you?”

I am peeing, Brenda. I am peeing.

It is not just the bathroom, either. The same thing happens when I attempt to make a phone call. The moment I say “Hello?” chaos erupts. Someone is crying. Someone cannot find their shoe. Someone urgently needs to confess something that absolutely could have waited.

And the cats. The cats follow me into the bathroom like I am leading a sacred pilgrimage.

I do not know what I have done to deserve this level of devotion, but I would like less of it.

The Bathroom Phenomenon

There is something about a closed bathroom door that activates children like a fire alarm.

They could be fully absorbed in a show. Building an elaborate Lego structure. Quietly breathing.

But once that lock clicks?

It is a summons.

They slide notes under the door. They test the handle. They ask questions rapid-fire, like I am holding a press conference.

“Mom, can I have a snack?”

You just had a snack.

“Mom, where is my dinosaur?”

You have 47 dinosaurs.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

Living. Barely.

Why This Happens

There is a real reason for this, and it is both annoying and weirdly sweet.

You are their anchor.

When you remove yourself from the visible environment, even briefly, their radar goes off. Where did she go? Why is she unavailable? Is this permanent? Should we panic?

Children thrive on proximity and predictability. And for many families, mom equals both.

Which is beautiful.

And exhausting.

The Phone Call Curse

The phone call interruption deserves its own chapter.

I can sit in silence for twenty uninterrupted minutes. But the second I dial a number, my household turns into a live-action obstacle course.

It is like my children sense vulnerability. She is distracted. Now is the time.

There is something deeply humbling about whisper-yelling while trying to sound professional.

“Yes, I would love to schedule that appointment. No, that is not screaming. That is… enthusiasm.”

Even the Cats

The cats are the final betrayal.

They do not need me. They barely acknowledge my existence most days. Yet somehow, the bathroom is where they draw the line.

Closed door? Unacceptable.

They scratch. They meow. They push the door open with alarming strength.

I cannot even hide from animals that regularly ignore me on purpose.

The Deeper Truth

Underneath the humor is something real.

Mothers are rarely off duty.

There is no sign out sheet. No official break. No moment where everyone agrees, yes, you may exist independently for five uninterrupted minutes.

So sometimes we hide.

We sit on the edge of the tub and scroll. We eat a snack alone. We stare at the wall in silence. We breathe.

Not because we do not love our families.

But because we need to reset.

It is not avoidance. It is nervous system maintenance.

If You Are Hiding Right Now

If you are reading this from a locked bathroom, I see you.

Take the extra minute.

Let the knocking happen.

The world will not collapse because you claimed four minutes of solitude in a small tiled room.

You are allowed to exist without an audience.

Even if the cats disagree.