Ramblings of an Invisible Woman

I have been blessed with a super power.

I am not a very bless-ed person, so I realize this comes as a bit of a shock.

I discovered my power just after I got married.

 Not the first few weeks of course, but soon thereafter, I started to notice some changes.

I'm sure it was the same for Peter Parker and Clark Kent

(or was his name actually Superman and his alter-ego Clark Kent?)

I'm not sure if I'm quite worthy of lumping myself in with their greatness,

after all my power is not about to save any lives or anything, but I'm going to give myself points for actually being a living breathing human being.

(at least I think I am)

At first I thought it was simply a fluke.

A little glitch somewhere in the matrix that I could be overlooked by the people around me.

But soon I started to wonder, and before long became convinced that

I

have the power

of invisibility.

Try not to be too alarmed. I'm currently working on a study to prove that three out of nine women inherit this gift soon after marriage.

Perhaps it has something to do with the little gold band they put on our finger, I'm not sure.

But, I know that I have this gift for sure, and it gets stronger with the birth of each child. 

 I can stand in the middle of a room, screaming for help

and no one will see me.

(clearly sound is included in invisibility, that's one part Marvel got wrong)

I can flap my arms in the faces of any t.v. viewer in my household,

and they will not notice me.

I can even stand naked in front of my husband,

and he will walk on by.

(I have not tested this theory on any other men... thus far)

If you don't believe that I hold the power of invisibility, simply hand a camera to the man I pledged my life to...

I will not appear in any of the shots,

 This is me at my daughters party

 no matter what the occasion,

 I have not done so in fifteen years.

The only exception to this rule is the occasional hand or leg, should it be touching one of our three children.

 Here I am at my son's birthday

Obviously there is some sort of anti-invisibility force field surrounding children. It also works should a child cry, vomit, or spew blood.

These are my kryptonite.

There is absolutely no way I can maintain my ghostly power if any of those occur within a sixteen mile radius. I've tried.

However, I am one hundred percent, absolutely, never fails, invisible when turning a radio station, watching a t.v. show, spending the income-tax return, or selecting a restaurant.

I'm still working on why exactly this phenomenon has occurred.

I do remember being quite visible before that ring went on my finger, 

 Pushing my eldest on the rope swing

though nothing changes when I take it off. Perhaps the gold reacted to a recessive gene in my chromosomal make up,

(much like a radioactive spider bite)

permanently fusing this power to my DNA. 

I also haven't figured out why there appear to be certain anti-invisibility zones in my house.

The moment I pick up a phone or sit on a toilet,

I become visible, and everyone around me suddenly remembers every little detail of every minuscule topic they ever needed to tell me.

I don't see what a phone and a toilet have in common,

but there is definitely something there.

I hope someday to unravel these mysteries, gain total control over my power, and maybe even learn how to use it for the good of man-kind.

In, fact I haven't really figured out how to make it work for me just yet,

but,

I know that with great power comes great responsibility,

We do have a thing for trains 

and believe me, I am prepared to help someday should any of the greater specimens of man-kind need the help of an invisible woman...

Here I am being Switzerland

Yes, Hello, I'm 34, but that's not really much of an age difference, uh... right?

Meanwhile, I will concentrate,

in the grand tradition of invisible people, 

on not catching on fire, choking, getting caught in a bear trap, or in any way putting myself in a situation of needing immediate assistance, unless, of course, I have an important phone call waiting for me on speed dial. 

I never expected to cry...

About six years ago I put my little girl on the bus for her first day of Kindergarten. it was a momentous day, not just because my first born was heading to school, but because it meant I would have more time to spend with my second born, the one who had never had mommy to herself for more than a thirty minute gymnastics class.

   One year later I dropped my littlest at pre-school, and for the first time I had two and a half hours, five days a week, to spend with the one person I hadn't been alone with since the day a doctor handed me a baby girl, me.

   I'd never noticed how incredibly short two and a half hours really is until I began trying to cram everything I could possibly think of into that tiny frame of time. The second week I started to crave the day when I could put them both on a bus and be positively free until they stepped off again a whole eight hours later. For a stay at home mommy with two little ones the idea of a day to myself was my personal promise land... a dream I had imagined for years and one that I could almost taste until the third week, when a little blue line ripped that dream out of my hands and tossed it another six years into the future.

   Last year my youngest went to pre-school and I once again did the two and a half hour cram, wishing and dreaming for August to roll around again and finally deliver my utopia... eight full hours of uninterrupted peace.

No toys throwing themselves out of bins...

No snacks spreading a three mile trail of crumbs and unidentifiable stickiness...

No little voices demanding I stop what I'm doing and fulfill their sudden whim...

Just me,

Peaceful...

Pleasant...

Getting things done.

All summer I've been counting down. 

Last Friday I put my eldest on the bus for her first day of middle school and thought, one down.

Yesterday I put the second born on the bus for her first day of fourth grade and thought, almost there!

 Today I put that last little blue line on the bus for his first eight hour day of Kindergarten...

and cried.  

I never expected to cry. I am not a crier by nature. Ok sure the right movie, a heartwarming story about children being separated from their parents, or particularly touching commercial...

hmmm.

But really, for the most part, I am the last one in the room to reach for a tissue. So when my day of freedom came, my long awaited mecca of solitude,

finally came rolling up with flashing yellow lights and stopped in front of my house...

why did I find myself running barefoot through the rain, trying to reach the door before my little blue line could see me cry?