on the patio
the afternoon drifts along
with the butterfly
My husband and I just spent almost two weeks watching our grandchildren. It was exciting and exhausting. We kept them entertained and fed, gave baths and hugs, were challenged when we didn’t know the way Mommy and Daddy do “it,” and were amazed by all the things they can do. Now we’re all back to our regular routines.
There’s weeding to be done, the floors are filthy, and there’s a pile of laundry to be done. I could push myself to get everything back in order. Instead, I am giving myself a day to read a book, and a fiction book at that. Nothing that edifies my mind or challenges preconceptions, just something light and entertaining.
Giving myself permission to take time off, to relax and rejuvenate so that I have more to give, is a relatively new phenomenon for me. I was raised with the understanding that all my work needs to be finished before I can play. But I’ve learned that there’s always more work to be done, if I look for it. In a world where “I don’t have enough time” and “I’m too busy” are constant refrains, giving myself quiet, undirected time is the paradoxical way to feel refreshed and ready to tackle the chore list. And a glass of ice tea makes it perfect…