I have the house to myself on a Saturday, and you’d think I’d get all kinds of things done. But for some reason, the quiet house makes me lazy and I’m realizing I’ve let it slip away without much to show for it.
I’m up with the boys and they’re quick at the table, bed head and all, they gobble down the Alphabits I bough in a weak moment because they were on sale, and then they are loading up the truck for a day with Dad.
Quiet descends, a heavy hush, and I feel myself heavy with quiet, too.
I should clean and bake and organize. I should write pages into that book I’ve mentioned, and I should, well, I should do a lot of things. Instead I do a little, and before I know it they are phoning from the road, on their way home. Pop a lasagna in the oven, and brush my teeth – because I’m not sure I did this morning – and panic a little. Will they see I’ve sat with quiet for most of they day?
And then I realize, it’s okay.
It’s okay to waste a day in quiet and bits of nothing. It’s okay to wander in thoughts and end up in dreams.
I sweep the floor and load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and I look forward to them, home soon.
Today I notice quiet, and I make peace with non-productivity.