As I write this my youngest son is in the midst of a double shift at work, my oldest is on vacation in Maine with some family friends and my husband is downstairs playing piano.
Everyone is occupied. Except me. I’m restless.
I’m restless because this new normal is not yet normal. These long swaths of quiet time were once filled with chaos and multitasking. I’m good at that. I’m used to it. And while I’m not complaining exactly, I’m not totally comfortable with this new existence.
You would think that with my newfound time that my house would be spotless, my paperwork assembled and organized and my life filled with clarity.
You would be wrong.
All things considered, I should be taking a much deserved nap or donning a face mask or reading a book or out brunching with friends.
But I’m not yet doing any of those things. Instead I’m operating on standby watching and waiting to be needed. I’m hovering (and I hate hoverers).
30 year-old-me envisioned this period of life a little bit differently then it is playing out.
When I talk to other moms about this I get all sorts of reactions – some are emotional and introspective, others are ecstatic and energetic and some are even downright depressed.
I don’t know how to feel yet. My kids are still home, albeit working and going to community college, so we’re in that weird in between space where they are not yet the I-can-take-care-of-my-own-business adults that they want to be. I mean, we don’t need to cut their steak for them anymore but we do need to give them life guidance. (“Pay cash! Be nice to people! Always arrive 10 minutes early!”)
Existing in the weird in-between is, well, weird.
But I”ll muddle through I guess. Maybe I’ll take a nap or something…
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