November 11, 2019

November 11, 2019

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Your typical weekend morning. Hot coffee, kids goofing off, washing machine running, TV on. A few extra kids from last night’s sleepover. I’m looking at the pile of clean dishes ready to be put away, the mountain range of laundry - some to be folded and sorted, some to be washed, all to be managed. I’m looking at the to-do list - market day projects, finish out book fair paperwork, start assembling receipts for taxes, call the guy about the thing, email about this and text about that … and husband wonders “what should we *do* today?”

 

Me: Umm, there’s plenty to do around here.

 

Him: No, I mean do something. Like go somewhere. Like do something. 

 

Me: …. okay ….

 

but with little or no enthusiasm because while it sounds super fun to do something, what actually sounds so much better is doing absolutely nothing - or my version of nothing, which is piddling around the house putting away this and that, moving things from point A to point B, and repeatedly cleaning the kitchen all day long after every snack and meal. So that at 7 pm, when I’m ready to really do nothing, my feet are up and my kitchen is clean. 

 

But then the guilt: will my children’s childhood memories be filled with mom muttering about looking for the good charger, wondering aloud why no one can empty their water bottles, and reminding them to put away their laundry? It *is* bright and sunny out there. Maybe a quick walk, a quick compromise. Or maybe more coffee and ….

 

Hmmmmm. 

 

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