A Day of Doing Absolutely Nothing
It was a Saturday morning and I had plans to take the kids to the zoo since we were without dad/hubby for the weekend–something a little special to help the time pass.
But then the text message came in from Mimi (grandma), who was planning on going on our outing with us: She was waffling about whether to go. As I lay on the floor in my pj’s helping Robert build a Lego fourteen-wheeler, I pondered a new plan: a tempting, totally unproductive, delightfully simple one.
What if we had a day of no plans at all? What if I just followed the kids from room to room and we spent the day lazing about the house in our jammies?
Forget the zoo! Maybe we’d go out later to somewhere simple like the bookstore if we felt like it, but maybe we wouldn’t. For once, we wouldn’t run out the door to make a lesson or an appointment. We wouldn’t try to get dressed and packed and buckled in before it was time for Avery’s nap. We wouldn’t meet friends at the park or run up to the grocery store. We’d just sit in our PJ’s for as long as we felt like it, and do whatever activity struck our fancy.
And that is how we spent our day. Legos, PlayMobil, and peanut butter toast. Puzzles, laundry, books. A game of “hotter-colder” as we hid small toys from each other and had to guess where it was. Mine went under the white measuring cup on the drying rack; Robert’s went in the bread box.
When finally we were dressed and fed and ready to leave the house for a trip to the bookstore, with a snack bag in my hand and two children in tow, I made a discovery.
I HAD LOCKED MY KEYS INSIDE THE HOUSE!
Turns out, we wouldn’t be going anywhere at all. So I put that snack bag on the patio and gave in to an afternoon of doing absolutely nothing right after a morning of just the same. There was trampoline jumping and t-ball; bike-riding and superhero games. Clearing out the garden, and drawing with markers at a little craft table we pulled outside from the porch.
When dinner came, we ate chili and cornbread (thank you to Mimi for saving me from cooking). We read books and laughed when we learned that “Mr. Funny” went home from the zoo and made himself a nice hot cup of cake. As I sang songs to the kids in the dark at bedtime, Avery asked me to hold her hand and Robert insisted on rolling out of bed onto the floor to cuddle with me.
I squeezed Avery’s pudgy little fingers and gave Robert’s back a stroke, feeling thoroughly and completely happy for a day of nothing–filled with absolutely everything. Sometimes we moms need that.