Peace, noun.
  1. freedom from disturbance; quiet and tranquility.

So first off shout out to all the dads who undress in their wife’s CLEAN living room only to travel 5 feet away to the nearest restroom for the next 45 minutes to “supposedly” take a dump.

Meanwhile in what used to be a CLEAN living room, hell breaks loose. Yeah, shout out to THOSE dads.

You’re probably thinking oh snap this is about to go down! She’s going to rip into my husband like she lives in my house.

No. No I’m not.

You see, our dearly beloved hunky husbands are actually on to something. They get 45 minutes EVERY DAY to them self. Sure it may be the same time we silently suffer from the living room as their stank butts fill the air, but they still got their 45 minutes am I right?

So Mommas, since this is a mom-blog, why aren’t WE doing this? No I don’t mean sit and pretend to fake poop for 45 minutes but to relax and fill up OUR cups for that time frame.

Can you just imagine how differently our days would be if we stopped pouring from empty cups? We would probably yawn less. Snap at our kids less. Shoot our husbands might even get laid if we tried this!

So I challenge you, whoever you are reader, to #Take45 < that’s a hash tag y’all. Use it, make it trend and tag me on Facebook doing your #Take45 thang that you choose!

Whether it be reading your bible, yoga, straightening your hair, folding laundry, fake pooping, gym time, painting your toes or even busting out the frozen Girl Scout cookies from last spring to eat by your lonesome! DO IT! #Take45

Then, pour back into your family when your cup is overflowing. I started doing this after having my second baby. Having that “me time” fulfilled me because I could hear the Lord speak in those moments. Even though he told me I was a hott mess and to trust in Him more it was nice to hear Him above all the noise to come after those 45 minutes.

Also it helped me resent my husbands poop time less and instead I soaked up my last 45 minutes of the day before daddy jumped in. It’s all about perspective.

Stories from THE E.R.

–Emily Roberts

Click here to read where this all begins!

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