Yesterday, I had one of those days when I ran around until I crashed. You know those days? When you have so much to do, you don’t think you’ll ever get it done? You finish one thing and ask, “What else is there to do?”
I took a personal day yesterday, and I still woke up at 6am. By 8, I had emailed my sub plans, completed two projects for church, and showered. By 10, I had gotten an oil change and picked up groceries. By noon, I had been to the dump and the post office and the carwash. My sister’s baby shower is today. I made the appetizers, cleaned out the cooler, and wrapped the gifts. I dropped off the bibles at church for our event on Sunday. I picked up Lee from a friend’s house and stopped by Home Goods to buy a cute little tray for the shrimp. I finished crocheting my nephew’s baby blanket.
My husband gets irritated when I rattle off my to-do list to him. But I when I’m looking at a day like that, I need to walk it through. I need to think ahead so I’m not driving in circles or wasting time. I need to have a ‘to-do’ list and a shopping list and a plan.
And sometimes, that’s not even enough. On my way home from the grocery store yesterday, I was literally giving myself a pep talk. Out loud. In the car.
“It’s gonna be okay.” “Breathe.” “Most of this stuff doesn’t even NEED to get done.” “It’s okay if you don’t get to it all.” “This is your DAY OFF. Try to enjoy it at least a little.”
*****
It used to be that ALL of my days felt like that. Rushing home from work to pick up the kids at daycare. Dinners, baths, homework, playdates, sports… when the kids were small, I had to actively participate in all of those things. Now, they make their own plans. They sometimes need me to drive, but they also walk and ride their bikes and grab a ride with a friend. They can feed themselves and bathe themselves and wash their own clothes. It’s a brave new world. For sure, they need reminders, but my days aren’t as full as they used to be.
But when those busy days do come, they take me back a couple of years to that constant frenetic pace. It’s weirdly nostalgic to feel that frantic. That probably sounds crazy. It wasn’t that long ago. I miss it and I don’t. I miss holding their little hands in Target. I squeeze twice. They squeeze twice. Two long squeezes. One short squeeze. Repeat. They don’t hold my hand in public anymore. But a few nights ago, we were on the couch. The kids got me to watch Stranger Things. And Lee was feeling cuddly. He flopped across the couch, with his head in my lap and his hand near mine. I grabbed it and squeezed twice. He squeezed back. Twice.
*****
After I put the groceries away, I made myself a cup of coffee and an omelet. I sat at the dining room table with a napkin and savored the food and the silence at the same time. A moment of calm.
When the rain stopped, I pulled the potting soil and my new clay pots onto the porch. I sat in the sun and repotted my plants, feeling the warmth on my face and the soil on my hands. A moment of bliss.
While I assembled the appetizers, I listened to an episode of my favorite podcast and cried over the lives lost in Uvalde. I raged and I mourned. I said a prayer and I made a donation. A moment of healing.
At Home Goods, I rushed in, picked out a tray, and headed for the register. Lee grabbed my arm. “Seriously, mom? Are you okay? I usually have to drag you out of here. What’s the rush? Can we look around?” He was right. I took a deep breath. We browsed, checking out pet beds and artwork and fancy serving dishes. We played our usual game, grabbing the ugliest items and proclaiming, “I found it. This is the one you want. I know it!” Giggles and eye rolls. A moment of connection.
*****
My life is still so incredibly, beautifully full. The days are busy and the years are flying by. And here I am, collecting moments.
What else is there to do?