IDLE

I like being busy. I make lists so I can check things off and feel accomplished. I add things I’ve already done to lists, just so I can check them off and feel accomplished. Desperate times… 

It’s hard to be that kind of busy in this stage of life.  I’m three shades of busy, but none of them fall into the ACCOMPLISHING TASKS category. ACCOMPLISHING TASKS only happens late at night. Just finding a pen in the chaos that is my house would take more time and effort than I can spare at 8:45. After all, there’s a pile of pee-pee underwear on the basement floor, and a pile of dirty clothes outside the bathroom door, and three wet towels somewhere or other.  And two sinks full of dishes and 1200 square feet littered with toys that can incite even the most angelic soul to swear like a trucker every time a bare foot falls at just the wrong place.

My three shades of busy prompt me to throw up hands in frustration. “Oh, the list! I can’t get anything done!” At which point, my dear husband puts his head to the ground and gets busy doing whatever it is he thinks will make this tired mama feel more in control of her world, while at the same time drown out the inevitable evening rant that follows many a trying day.

Is this method working for anyone else? It hasn’t been working for me.  So in mock frustration, I now throw up hands and shout, “Well! I guess I just can’t get anything done. Might as well stop trying!”

Not trying. Check!

E’s departure for school the past eight mornings has made several things abundantly clear.  First, it’s been really good for Audyn to be the big fish. She’s thriving, and I could write an entire post on that alone. Second, I miss my big girl so much it aches. And every morning I’m shooing that dreamer out the door, inside I’m wanting to snatch her up in my arms and keep her close.  So much so I’ve considered homeschooling. Me. That’s how much I miss her. 

Epiphany:

Letting go, even just a little, is painful.

Letting go, even just a little, to see your Little grow new wings, is beautiful.

The time appointed to hold on, to shelter under my wings, it’s so short.

And because it’s so short, I’m going to work harder at cultivating a spirit of idleness.  We did a lot of idling today. We played babies, had tea parties, taught stuffed bears and penguins to poop on the potty, stacked blocks, wrestled, tickled, and wiped bums (real and stuffed).  I let the dishes pile high in the sink. I let the laundry hang on the line far too long. Later, I pushed it out of the way (still hanging) to make room for a very important painting to dry.  We bobbed for apples (A’s idea. It’s impossible and hilarious and you drink far more water than you mean to, slobbering communally into the bowl and all over those darned elusive apples.) I took photos of tomatoes in a glass bowl because they made me feel happy and

flowers pouring over the side of a planter because I see now that their time is short, too. We ate pizza and ice cream on a quilt spread under a tree; we lingered long after the food was gone and the sun sank behind the houses in our neighborhood. We told ridiculous made up stories about each other and laughed loud. The kids squeezed in one bath together, sloshed water all over the floor and laughed uproariously at made up jokes I can’t seem to follow. We closed our day close.

Abundance was everywhere we were today. I wish I could say I left frustration and fatigue, grumbling and self-pity outside our city gates. But that wouldn’t be true.  My weaknesses can taint even the most idyllic day of kid-focused activity. But at the end of the day, with my three shades of busy tucked snug in their beds, the exhaustion hasn’t left me feeling empty and unaccomplished. Quite the opposite. My cup is full.  And we never left home.

I document this now, because when my brain resumes placing its usual demands on my body to ACCOMPLISH TASKS, I would like my heart to politely tell it to shut up. 

Idle. I like it here.