By: Shannon Day
Sometimes when a mom is at home with her young, for extended periods of time, she can feel a wee bit claustrophobic, like a muskrat in a trap. I know firsthand how this feels. I’ve been that mom, that trapped mom. And I know, I’ll be her again…
This captivity-like existence often strikes while my husband is away. Throw in a few stomach bugs, a never ending winter and our home transforms into a suffocating trap with my little critters and I as the tormented creatures inside. During such times I yearn deeply to break free, like a woodland creature would if she were locked inside a cage
The mind of a trapped mom can be somewhat fantastical and, in my case, borderline fable-like. During these times, I fantasize…
I dream that I’m a bunny frolicking with my female besties. Not in a hoochy-bunny way! I’m talking about innocent fun with my bunny pals: chatting, laughing, wine sipping. That sort of thing.
I am aware that rabbits don’t partake in those activities, but they should.
So, anyway, back to my woodland creature imagery… I envision myself a rogue fox. With my feral qualities intact, I’d roam neighbouring boroughs in search of adventure and the unknown. Without a care in the world, I’d tour and explore at whim.
My appreciation for the “simple pleasures” of forest animal life may or may not be cause for concern…
Like a lone deer, who wanders amidst the pines and maples, I’d be free . No plan. No map. No timeline. No hunters! And no fawns clinging to my long, slender deer legs. Just me with my curious doe eyes, seein’ what I see in the fresh, open air.
Free. Free to be as I once was, before the buck ‘n fawns came along…
Now, get this- among other animals, rabbits have been known to eat their young during times of high stress. After narrowly surviving a 9 day sickness bender last winter, I sort of got where they were coming from.
Yes, the fact that I felt an understanding for and kinship with these desperate bunny-moms is disturbing. I know that. And this is why on a bleak January day, following that nine day bender, my husband was greeted at the door by me, car keys in hand. “We need food,” I announced before he could even put down his suitcase. And, like a squirrel on crack, I bolted from our front door to the driver’s seat, in one steady flash.
Finally, I was alone. It felt surreal. The air was crisp and cold. The silence; exquisite. Euphoric, even. I turned on the ignition and slid the gearshift into reverse. With dreamy doe eyes, I exhaled deeply and backed the car out of the driveway.
Freedom at laaaaast….
Open road, here I come!
That was the sound of me, hitting a parked car. Hard. My euphoria lay shattered in pieces on the snow, like the shards of my neighbour’s bumper. My bid for freedom: Revoked.
There would be no frolicking.
No hitting the open road, rogue-style all the way to Fresh Co.
No wandering amongst the maple trees (AKA: shopping at Target, alone).
Nope, none of that. Instead I’d be taking my dopey doe eyes over to my neighbour’s house, tail between my legs, to meet them for the first time.
For those days when you’re trapped inside with no hope of escaping, here’s a recipe for The Euphoric Doe Martini. Fill a metal shaker with ice. Add 1.5 oz. vodka, 1 oz. lemonade, a splash of cranberry and some fresh lavender or some rosemary from your garden. Shake it up and sieve it into the martini glass of your choice. Toast to frolicking with friends, fresh forest air and to freedom!