There’s always next weekend!
I love my son, don’t get me wrong, but I really love his overnight stays with his grandmas.
Last Saturday was no exception. My fiancée, son and I were going to a family birthday party, following which my son would be whisked away by his grandmas and we’d get stuff done at home. We would use our ample free hours that afternoon to clean, plan our wedding and take care of other business.
We haven’t had time for these things on the weekdays recently. I’m on the go for at least fourteen hours before I have a moment’s breather, and my fiancee’s new job takes him away from home anywhere between twelve and seventeen hours a day.
At the end of any given day, the choice between cleaning and popping open a magazine is no choice at all.
It’s all good, though! Weekends are for catching up.
Except . . .
Our son’s gone berserk. Managing him pre-party is a full time job. There’s no time for accomplishing strategic objectives, only making sure the little guy remains in one piece.
We stay at the party much longer than expected. It’s 7:30 by the time we get home. We’re beat.
“Wanna watch some horror?”
“You betcha! We can do stuff tomorrow.”
We’re awakened not at 5:45 a.m. by our son shouting, “Mommy and Daddy! The sun is up! Rise and shine!” but because our dreams have run their course. Outstanding!
“Should we do . . . something?”
“We haven’t really done anything. Should we get to it?”
“I dunno. Do I have to move from the couch?”
“Well, I’m not moving from here!”
“Then I am not a fan.”
“Agreed. Reconvene later?”
“How about now?”
“Naw, we’ve still got plenty of time.”
“I hate to say this, but our productivity window is shrinking.”
“Ugh. It is, huh? Let’s talk wedding.”
By the time our son reached us an few hours later, we’d planned a little but cleaned nothing. Surveying the weekend passed, I didn’t feel the least bit accomplished.
I wasn’t sweating it then, and I’m not sweating it now. Life is busy, and hard. Stepping out of constant commotion is essential for seeing it is also sweet, beautiful, and better as more than just an endless sequence of to-dos.
I need that downtime, more even then I need room to eat at my dinner table.*
And beside-there’s always next weekend!
* Seriously, have you seen it? It’s supposed to be in
my dining room, but I can’t even find that.