Time To Recharge
Summer has officially arrived and my children have left the house. It is silent, with only the whir of the refrigerator and the jumpstart of the air conditioning to interrupt my solitude. I like the silence. After an incredibly stressful 8 months, I need it to recharge. Not that I don’t want to talk to people; I do, but the “Mom, mom, mom” calls, incessant chatter, teenaged squeals and squabbles will not be missed for the next three weeks.
It is clean, five days after the cleaning people left—exhaustion and relief on their faces after their once-yearly clean-up of my children’s rooms—and the only items out of place are the dog’s toys, which she strategically places around the house to show ownership and an “I dare you to move it” attitude. The only person I have to pick up after is myself, and my husband now becomes the recipient of my nagging to put something away, usually phrased as “Why is this here?”
The panic I usually feel at 2:45 when I realize the kids will be home from school and I haven’t gotten nearly enough day has disappeared, replaced with, “Wow, it’s only 3:30. I still have so much time.” I’m not sure I’ll be any more productive, but just knowing that I can be is enough for now. And I’m ridiculously pleased with myself when I complete some tiny, but often postponed chore, like cleaning out my coupon box—I told you it was ridiculous.
I now wait eagerly for the mail and watch the camp photo website, looking for some letter or photographic proof that my children are at camp and happy. I’ve gotten letters, fill-in-the-blank postcards (initiated by camp, not me) and seen pictures, and even received a text or two from friends who report with assurance that my children are not wandering aimlessly through the Poconos, nor have they been eaten by bears. Frankly, I think I’m more worried for the bears—my girls are loud, kind of bony and probably more difficult to take care of than the bear cubs.
My “To Be Done While The Children Are At Camp List” is very unorganized and resides mostly in my head. Items jostle for attention and are constantly examined and thrown away—seriously, how badly does that cabinet need to be reorganized? I’d much rather read or write. I’ve gotten over my fear of the new vacuum cleaner, but that doesn’t mean I’m actually going to use it. The box came with instructions on how to open it—imagine the instructions for actually using the thing! The furniture I’m planning to refinish has been sitting in the garage for so long, a few more days, weeks or even months, won’t matter. The basement needs cleaning, but I so rarely go down there, I’m not sure I’ve got the energy or motivation to do it.
So, for the next three weeks, I’m on “Jennifer Time.” It’s weird, it’s quiet and it’s often unproductive, but I think I’m going to like it.
