A Few Good Minutes

Mabel went to a friend's house this afternoon while I took Dash to his dance class. I dropped him off and wandered over to the shops to buy some toothpaste and some cheese. I'm used to being child-free in the mornings, of course, but in the afternoon it's different. I kept thinking I'd forgotten something, someone. I didn't know what to do with my hands, with nobody to hold on to. I greeted passing squirrels, forgetting that lone adults don't usually do that. I felt strange without my small-child armour, distractor, attractor and detractor of attention (to herself and away from me, that is).

We want the peace, but the truth is, we can't handle the peace.

I went into the library and tried to browse the adult side of the room, the side I never usually get to go into, because it's not quite so forgiving of small children chasing each other up and down the bookshelves, twirling on the shiny high stools. But I couldn't concentrate, lacking direction, focus, motivation. The pressure to Make Every Moment Count isn't quite so strong nowadays, since I do spend a couple of hours alone each morning, but idle wandering still feels like wanton frittering.

If only I could take those quiet moments and dole them out to myself when I really need them - this morning at 7am when Mabel was dancing on my head and insisting that I come downstairs, for instance, would have been the perfect moment to really indulge in twenty minutes of alone time.