Just Another Weekend

That's Ant drawing me a dragon for Mother's Day

For me, it was the perfect Mother’s Day weekend, although I’m fairly certain that others would have found it less appealing. J had to work this weekend, and that was fine by me. I had a to-do list: laundry, dishes, cleaning out the car, grocery shopping. I tackled each task with vigor, feeling good in the warm temperatures and bright sun and cool breezes. I decided to treat it as just another weekend, and I succeeded.

I pulled weeds in the front flower beds, and made it presentable. I ran out and bought more pots, more flowers, and plants, getting sweaty and muddy and a bit sunburned. It felt good to be getting something done—it felt right—to be doing these things, checking them off my list, seeing the tangible product of my efforts, no matter what day of the year it was.

I even changed out the wreath on the front door. It’s had snowflakes on it for about 6 months. It was funny in March and April, given the fact that we were still having the occasional snowstorm. It wasn’t funny in May. Now my wreath matches the spring flowers in our front flower beds.

I am completely certain that I could have played the Mother’s Day weekend card and sat around, relaxing—and this would have been a fine idea, given that it’s the end of the academic year, and we are all worn out. I could have played the writing card, and chosen to write all weekend long. In fact, that was my original plan. I just couldn’t bring myself to find something to write about. So I filled my days with tasks that needed to be done; tasks that required the use of my hands and allowed my mind to be free to find that story line.

The story didn’t come. I was okay with that. Sometimes they don’t, and then I have the chance to live in the moment. I’m not thinking of something that I want to relate which happened in my past, or thinking towards the next thing I should do in the near future. I can be wholly present in the present. I can place my thoughts directly on the same plane as my hands, and think about how I fold laundry or the spinach from the garden, which I harvested and washed.

Not that I didn’t think of larger things as well. I realized why I couldn’t find that story idea—even when I had the urge and the time to write. Stories, as you know, require conflict to be any good. In others words, if you have no conflict, no odds to overcome, then you have no reason for a story. I’ve been having a hard time coming up with a story line because I am having a hard time with conflict.

Perhaps I haven’t been able to identify a conflict because my heart has swelled to be so full I often feel sure that it’s about to burst. My life is good: my work is amazing and my kids are thriving. My husband is in a great place, and our marriage is strong. My friends are wonderful, and being surrounded by them is more than satisfying.

It is all so very good, and that feeling is so much more of a gift than breakfast in bed or flowers or candy could ever be.

P.S. That didn’t stop me from requesting my husband make me another cheesecake, however, in honor of Mother's Day. This week the cheesecake is key lime… Just so you know. But I won’t post a picture this week, or otherwise attempt to make you drool.  Although I am taking votes as to whether or not the husband should bake us a cheesecake each and every week…

P.P.S. I will post soon about the week of kids in charge of nourishment, I promise, but as you can tell, the cat's out of the bag. No one died. And J did not starve to death.  Spoiler!