As I type this, the kids are downstairs playing some game that specifically excludes adults (and sounds kind of rough, but they are laughing, so I’m staying out of it).
My inbox is very much under control (it’s a quiet time at work), my workout for the day is done and the dog came with, so that’s a 2-birds, one stone kind of situation.
The house is mostly under control (I mean, I could probably do another load of laundry but whatever).
I glance around the living room as the sun sets way too early and realize, with some trepidation, that there is nothing urgent that needs my attention.
And for some reason, I feel guilty.
There’s an expectation these days that moms (and dads, or anyone, really) need to be busy-busy-busy oh-no-no-time-to-sit-down. It’s a pet peeve of mine when you ask someone how they are and the first thing they sigh is “oh, I’m just so busy!” Uh huh. Aren’t we all.
I’m not. I’m really not! I have free time. Time that I don’t feel I need to assign a task to. Frankly, sometimes I don’t know how to fill that free time. Sometimes, I am even bored. And yet, it doesn’t feel right that I have this magical unicorn kind of time.
It’s like I’m admitting something, finally coming clean:
Hi, I’m Christine and I’m not busy all the time.
Maybe I need a hobby.
Editor’s note: I even feel guilty just writing this.