As parents, it’s very, very hard to not be doing things. All. The. Time.
The washing. The vacuuming. The cleaning. The cooking. The lunches. The playing. And the reading and the singing and the teaching and the encouraging and all the things you never thought would be tedious, but actually, when you’ve been asked to look at six things made from kinetic sand in the past three fucking minutes you would like to just NOT.
It’s a tough balancing act.
You’re busy all the time. Even when it doesn’t seem like you’re busy because you’re in front of the T.V. feeding or comforting a small, sad, sick, blob of a baby – you’re busy. Because it’s not something you can just not do or walk away from.
(If you haven’t gathered, I have been stuck under a sad, sick, blob of a baby recently a lot. Especially between 12am and 4am because sleep is for the well, apparently)
I’m out at my parent’s house with the children because I needed to clean my car -which looks fantastic by the way – and my dad has taken the elder two to visit his friend. Morrigan is asleep.
I am having a cup of tea.
A cup of tea that feels like I’m wasting time. I’m thinking of a bunch of things that I could be doing at home; folding washing, putting stuff in the dryer, vacuuming, dinner, uni work… but I can do none of that. There’s really nothing I can do.
So I sit.
And I sip.
And I try and convince myself that taking time isn’t wasting time.