Not Nice Spice
Tonight, instead of making dinner, I went to Target. I spat off some basic directions for a quick curry and jetted out the door. In the pouring rain. In suede shoes. In my husband's oversized windbreaker. Because I'm a mom and nothing stands between me and Target. I actually needed a few things: a curtain panel, a 3-way light bulb, and rubber gloves for dishes. I actually got those very things. I needed Target for more than buying frivolous, fanciful, fabulous items for my little home. I needed Target so that I could breathe; so that I could think about something without high-pitched screaming as background music; so that I could walk at a decent human pace (I’ve learned to speed shop when toting a toddler and babe—those little hands can grab a cartful in less than point five seconds).
It takes about 6 minutes to get to Target, even with traffic lights. I stopped at every yellow light and didn’t turn on red once. I’ve never had so much brain space available for myself, so I was determined to max it out. I turned the radio to a non-family friendly station (gasp!). I had no idea what they were singing, but it sounded like they were able to sleep when they wanted, go where they wanted, and do what they wanted at any given moment. These were the vibes I needed to soak in. When I came home, I decided to take a hot second and clean out the car. I left the music on and let the rain patter away. I looked up and saw a few beady eyes and a death stare. I laughed to myself as I came in and asked how everything was. I wasn’t shocked by the pure exhaustion all over Stud’s face. They screamed the whole time until they saw I was home (well they still screamed but it was less so). After dinner Stud said he needed a break. I told him go for it! It threw him a little, but I knew he finally understood why I’m always a tragic mess when he comes home. He didn’t end up going anywhere, but I know the level of appreciation for dinner each night just went up to platinum level. Self-care is not usually what you think it will be. Tomorrow when I’m hauling these tiny tushes around town in a clean car I won't have to take time to frantically look for something. I’ll be able to tell in an instant that I indeed did leave the diapers on the table at home. Self-care is finding a way to breathe amidst this beautifully chaotic scene. Self-care is understanding where your spouse is coming from and spreading love, not strife. So thank you, Target. Thank you for giving me a chance to breathe.
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Kate FrancesWhen you don't know what else to do, then it's time to write. Then write a little while longer for good measure. Archives
February 2020
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