The little ones went to sleep early tonight and my husband is out for the evening, hence I have the house to myself. I feel as though I could sleep…but with all this silent free time I am contractually and morally obligated to do something with it. But what?
Why is this even a question? Don’t I busy myself during the day by making mental lists of all the things I can’t do because I am trying to find a speck of poop that fell out of a diaper and onto the carpet? Yep, mentally I am base-jumping off some cliff in South America and scuba diving in Zanzibar, but in real-time I am trying to clean all the toys off the steps so I find my way to the shower.
So when my overactive mind is given silent free time, I freak out. I start Googling the name of that girl I hung out with in Grade Nine. I make a wishlist of all the office supplies I need. And the sewing projects I would like to work on just don’t seem that interesting. The books I have out from the library don’t seem to be begging to be read tonight. Blegh.
Sometimes this ridiculous waste of time stretches on into what I guess could be called insomnia. And then I am cutting into tomorrow’s energy levels. But maybe, just maybe, I am making a statement to myself that even though I can juggle the entertainment, feeding, and clothing of two very busy little people throughout the day that I can also prove to be very versatile in the evenings and be a thoroughly useless loaf.