Alone Time

Except for an hour-ish walk by myself each day, my every moment since the birth of our first child has been filled. Until now.

It’s been a wonderful thing, all these years. I’m all or nothing, so I was never interested in doing my own things when it meant I’d miss out on moments in their lives that I could never get back. I’m also big on having no regrets, so experiencing all their moments meant I’d never look back and question myself.

I put every ounce of my energy into their development: I fed them with experiences – we built driftwood rafts; we cooked ethnic food; we attended plays and concerts; we discussed theology. I loaded them with knowledge – I read thousands of books to them in my lap; I explained deep concepts in detail; I trained their neuropathways for long and curious attention spans. I protected their innocence – we listened to instrumental music instead of the radio; we avoided movies with crass attitudes toward family; we guarded all of our senses from unnecessary media.

Examining beach inhabitants every time something new washed up, incubating and hatching ducklings in our kitchen, collecting seeds in dying plants, practicing octaves while toothbrushing, fashioning roses out of fall leaves, avoiding live sand dollars underfoot, breaking off gigantic icicles from rocks, painting afternoons away…we’ve done everything life has presented us with.

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Some years I kept them home to enjoy even more time with them since I was more invested in their lives than anyone else ever could’ve been. Other years, I relinquished them to school to learn other things I may not have brought to their lives.

But this year is a first. They are both in school. I am therefore alone for the first time in 14 years, the master of my own, wonderful, self-led time. Wow! What a fantastic thing it is. It came at a time when my lack of time for myself was about to make me burst. Homeschooling two children instead of one at a time was new for me last year, so that propelled the bursting feeling to come to a head at the end of last year. (I never let it burst!)

Now, I walk, I blend a smoothie, and I go to the library. How joyful I feel to enter the place, walk over to my self-appointed chair, and sit down with me to think, write, and ponder my existence in stillness. Oh, the wondrous stillness after 14 years of nonstop motion. I get giddy every morning just thinking about it while packing their lunches.

Don’t get me wrong, I still and always will love being with my children. But now, I also get the gift of myself as well. In nice, big chunks of time. You never know how long a phase will last, so I’m wallowing in every sacred minute of it.