Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about taking time for myself. Homeschooling during COVID (i.e. can’t really go anywhere or do anything) is a recipe for burnout if I don’t take a break. The thing is, I’m not sure what that break would look like. I mentioned it to Mr. December and he informed me that a break looks just like what I’m doing now.
“Your blog is time just for you,” He pointed out. “Why else are you doing it? Who else is it for?”
Hmmm. It’s true that I blog because I want to, but it still doesn’t feel like rest and relaxation to me. I suppose that it’s time just for me in the same way that quilting was, once upon a time. But it’s not the kind of “me time” I’m thinking of. So what is?
The reality right now is that I just want some quiet. I need everyone to stop talking at me for just a few minutes… ok, fine. A few hours. My ADHD is not the reason why I can’t finish sentences or remember what I was doing. Those problems are caused by moments like this:
I’m talking to Mr. December: “So the home insurance quote came in and it looks wrong to me. I’m wondering if they know –“
“HUG ATTACK!” N launches himself at my midsection and squeezes me like he’s a python.
“Right,” I plow on ahead, patting N on the back as I talk. “As I was saying, they have the alarm on there but they’re ignoring the –“
“UNDERBELLY ALERT!” E sashays into the kitchen holding her shirt up, inviting Mr. December to nibble her belly.
“Not now, E,” he says. “Go ahead, honey.”
“EEMAAAAA!!! I thought you said you’d get me some oatmeal!”
“IN A SECOND!” I call back. Then to Mr. December, “What was I saying?”
“Somebody’s ignoring something,” he supplies.
“You mean our children are ignoring everything we ever taught them about interr–“
“You guys, there’s food stuck in my expander and it’s driving me crazy! Have you seen the syringe?”
I grit my teeth. “Sweetheart, can I see you in my office for a minute?” Without waiting for an answer I pull him into our tiny pantry and slide the door shut. The kids are giggling on the other side. We look at each other, giggle, and kiss. The kids, hearing silence, try to peek into the pantry. I hear R say, “Ew. Gross. They’re kissing. Let’s go play.”
Now, what was I saying? Who knows? This is exactly the reason why I long for the time, space, and silence to think my thoughts from start to finish. The only reason I’ve got this post done tonight is that the kids are playing a computer game with Mr. December and I’m alone on the back porch. Sweet, sweet solitude.
And now I can hear the door opening. A tiny voice wafts out, “Eeema! I’m baack! And I’m hungry!”
Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted.