Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I don’t have any regular commitments on a Tuesday. The little ‘un and I potter around in the morning. When she naps, I can indulge in a spot of reading or crochet or blogging. We go for walks. We play on the swings. We enjoy bread and butter pudding at a local haunt. We run fun errands, like going collecting an ordered book that has arrived or buying presents for birthdays and newly arrived babies.
Wednesday and Thursday mornings are a little more structured, with fitness and pilates classes respectively. Our only other Thursday date is on the way home from pilates: we stop off at the local supermarket and pick up a BBQ chicken, then hover in the kitchen, little ‘un in her high chair, munching the warm chicken with fragrant oily fingers.
So, for me, key constituents of a weekend-type feeling seem to be: not having to prepare anything the night before; being able to stay in my jammies for as long as I want to; savouring a coffee while reading a novel; having the time to ponder what to wear (even if it’s only tracksuit pants); playing and walking and daydreaming and having small adventures; and having the house to myself when the little ‘un naps.
I do miss my husband when he's at work, and it is more fun (and responsibility for the munchkin is more of a share enterprise) on the weekends when we're all together. But this time to myself feels extremely precious and is critical for my creativity and centeredness.
What signals the weekend for you?
Monday, May 10, 2010
… and not the worst either. But at one point, I did grab my bag, switch off my phone, and walk silently out the door. There was nothing going through my head at the time. In fact, as I wandered aimlessly along the cobbled laneways that connect the streets in my neighbourhood, it occurred to me that it may have appeared an overly melodramatic flourish. I wasn’t overly annoyed or angry.
I just suddenly needed some
I was only gone for about 30 minutes. I hadn't done anything like this before and it's unlikely I will do it regularly. When I walked in the front door, my husband had the little ‘un strapped to his chest in the sling, mobile phone in hand. He was just about to leave to come looking for me, anxious look on his face.
I held out my hand and said, “Come and I’ll show you what I found”. We walked quietly back along the laneway route. Our little ‘un narrated our travels, exclaiming at every door, window, and dog we passed, and when there weren’t any of those, she held out her feet so we could admire her “tooties”.
We arrived at the crimson grape vine that cascaded down the back of a stucco wall just as the sun was descending. The flat jagged leaves seemed to iridescent in the borrowed light from the glowing red brick wall opposite.
When we got home, I returned to my computer and re-read what I had been working on for this week’s writing assignment. The last line read: “Sometimes, she just wanted to disappear, to run and hide from everything and everyone that needed her.”
This line didn’t make it into the final cut, because it wasn’t relevant to the story I was writing.
It was relevant to the story I was living.