Today I decided to take time just for me, even though it wasn’t on my to do list.
There were dishes, so many dirty dishes stacked in the sink and overflowing onto the counter, waiting for me to clean them. Those dishes were on the list.
There was clutter and mess stretched from one end of the house to the other. (I imagine one could read our family’s story by the scattered toys on the floor, rather like a fortune teller reads tea leaves. Look, they would say, broken crayons next to naked Barbies and Nerf footballs signify a busy, affectionate family with artistic tendencies, but little emphasis on proper clothing.) Putting away all that mess was on the list.
Also on my list, there’s a book review I needed to finish and a friend I needed to help. And let’s not forget dinner. Answering the dreaded question of what shall I make for dinner? was on the to-do list.
Gentle reader, I’m not afraid to admit to you that I threw away my list. With reckless abandon I threw that piece of paper right into the trash. Then I stepped over the Barbies, kicked a football out of my path, and broke a few more crayons as I made my way to the couch to put my feet up with a good book.
My cats immediately approved of my bold move to do nothing and showed their solidarity by overcoming their hatred of one another as they shared my lap. I took this for a sign that I wasn’t being slothful, instead I was promoting peace among felines- a worthy aim.
For the next hour I did nothing but read and listen to purring kitties. It was heaven.
Then the cats got bored and abandoned me, the children grew restless and required direction and fruit snacks, and the list somehow resurrected itself. I put down the book and got busy.
But I had an hour, sixty whole minutes, just for me. Just for me.