Do you feel pressured to have some kind of amazing answer to this question? Do you feel like you have to go like crazy, even when you're home alone, in order to somehow justify yourself? Don't feel like that, urges this writer--instead, she writes, the answer to "what do you do all day" should be simply: enough. Read on:
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On the first day of school, I drove my three boys to their Montessori
school and stepped out into the foggy morning air. They lined up along
the fence while we took the obligatory first day photos. I walked them
to their classrooms, kissed them goodbye, and returned to the car. There
were no tears, only a feeling of bewilderment and I’ll admit, some
excitement. After seven years of having a child or two or three in tow, I
was alone. All day.
The first two days were a blur. I rushed
through housework, doing dishes and laundry and sweeping up like a
madwoman. I grocery shopped alone but still with a sense of urgency; the
time felt borrowed and the desperation I felt to accomplish everything
was palpable. I packed in exercise and appointments and picked up the
boys at the end of the school day exhausted, but with a sense that I had
done enough, that the time had been worthwhile and productive.
The
second week in, the questions started pouring in from family, friends,
neighbors, coffee shop employees, and acquaintances who noticed my lack
of tiny companions. “Where are the boys?” was inevitably followed by
“What are you doing with yourself all day?” At first I was vague, “What
am I not doing?” I said with a chuckle. Then I found myself needing an answer. I talked about writing, cooking, cleaning, gardening,
laundry and chores, visiting with friends and going to trapeze class. I
listed more and more, found myself needing an answer, a better answer.
And
then a good friend, who happened to overhear my 700th answer to the
same question, approached me. She looked me in the eyes, smiled, and
said, I know everyone is asking you what you are doing all day. And you
feel like you have to say something profound. But I think they’re just
asking because you are the light at the end of the tunnel. You are
entering the place we [with young children] are only dreaming about. I
think people want to know what it’s like because you give them hope.”
I
felt myself fully exhale for the first time in two weeks. I had been so
busy trying to live up to my own expectations of accomplishing enough
during the childless hours that I was totally unaware of the pressure I
was putting on myself: the pressure I put on myself with the clear
knowledge that staying at home is a luxury to many, and something I feel
humbled and grateful for on a daily basis. It is a beautiful gift.
The conversation felt like someone had let me off the hook; I didn’t
need to be so hard on myself. It was at that moment that I realized
there would be days that I did nothing but drive the boys to school,
return home, and lie on my back staring at the ceiling to work through
some idea or another, do some dishes, and drive back out to pick up my
boys. Then there would be days where I spent hours cleaning and
organizing our home, prepping for elaborate meals for my family, baking
three loaves of pumpkin bread, weeding the garden, running errands,
picking 30 pounds of apples from our tree, making applesauce, taking the
dog to a vet appointment and then getting the oil changed in our van
just in time to pick up the boys.
Which day is more worthy? Which day would I talk about when people asked?
What
kind of value do we place on a day with nothing planned? On a day not
filled with lists of accomplishments, but with peace and quiet: a long
walk to a coffee shop to enjoy a book, a phone conversation with a
family member with whom we’ve lost touch. Will we tell those stories, or
leave them out? There is value in both the busy days and the slow,
reflective ones. There is value in finding time for oneself.
When the next person asks me what I do all day, maybe I will simply say, “Enough.”
Lauren Knight blogs at Crumb Bums.
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