Today, I announced (mostly to myself) that I was not going to chauffeur anyone to an activity.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you miss a night of Krav?” I asked my girl-child.
“Nothing”, she said.
I need a night off. Ever since the post Christmas season, I have had more, not less stuff added into the family calendar. I think it’s like this for many people. Especially people who parent kids similar in age as mine. It just gets busier, more complicated, and crazier with every passing year. And weekends are more full than weekdays. I just don’t have time to decompress, it seems.
No harm in taking a night off.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
All week I’ve needed some time to myself. All week I’ve had to deal with food running out (again), a sick kid on the couch, pick ups and drop offs and hockey and laundry and all the rest of it.
Tonight, I quit.
I’m sitting here, and it’s rather idyllic. I feel no guilt (ok, a little guilt) that we paid for sessions and we opted out for no other reason than I’m not up for the run-around tonight. My girl is drawing a cartoon and she doesn’t have the TV blaring. The dishes are done because I threw leftovers at everyone which I reheated in the microwave, saving myself from having to direct or supervise (or do myself) the washing of pots and pans.
The boys are at hockey.
I have wine.
I have my laptop, my eczema cream and my lip balm beside me.
I have facebook open and email. I’m writing (blogging, whatever) and reading twitter and listening to the quiet. The girl isn’t talking (for once), concentrating on her drawing.
This is what I needed tonight.
A night off.