This morning I promised myself that today would be a lazy day, we would have a full on day of mooching, of doing nothing.
And already at 11.24am I am edgy, I am feeling the need to do something.
When I say lazy, I have of course already tackled the washing mountain and the dishwasher, made smoothies and had a full on zombie battle with the small things.
They are now settled with the Xbox and I am wondering what happened to that feeling of sloth that I used to wallow in.
Today I have to give myself permission to do nothing and even then it feels wrong. It feels even more wrong on a bank holiday when we should be making the most of the day.
What happened? Have I just got so used to spinning plates that when they stop spinning my natural reaction is to try and make them spin again – all at the same time.
And why should I have to give myself permission to do nothing? Why does it feel so wrong to do nothing, to ‘chill’, to just mooch around the house.
The small things always end the evening with: ‘What are we doing tomorrow?’ and begin the next day with: ‘What are we doing today?’ If I say nothing I am met with blank stares. I’m sure in those rose-tinted days of my growing up, my parents didn’t make plans to do something every day that we were off. I am sure that we spent many an hour just making up games in the playroom with the aid of the Sindy doll (we were never barbie girls).
Maybe I need to train myself and my small things in the art of doing nothing, in the art of day dreaming, of staring into space and just letting random thoughts take over.
I think it’s a disappearing art in today’s manic parenting. You start the day thinking of what you need to do, the list you have written and the jobs to be achieved.
Today I am embracing bank holiday mooching and I’m not giving myself permission to have nothing planned.
I am just not planning anything.
*sits, stares into space, daydreams