On the first Saturday of every month my husband has a “free day.” In the winter he goes skiing on black diamond slopes, and in the summer he takes sixty-mile bike rides. These are not activities that the family can do together. I occupy the kids for the day, and in exchange my husband gives me the evening off. The family usually goes out to dinner so I don’t have to cook, and my husband puts the kids to bed.
At least that’s the deal. In truth, however, I often end up putting the kids to bed. This isn’t because my husband reneges on his offer. Sometimes I just feel like it’s easier for me to do it. If we’ve been out to dinner, it’s probably late. The kids need to get right to bed, and I’m faster at marshaling them through their bedtime jobs. Even though I’ve been alone with them all day, doing all the work of parenting myself, I can manage another half-hour of child care. I can do it.
Looking over the remaining weeks of summer vacation, I think, I can do it. If I am feeling brain dead because I am not working (writing), if I am getting tired of having fun, if I am longing for a few hours to myself, I know that I can bear up and plow through a few more weeks. I can do it. I can pack picnics, arrange an outing to the reservoir, ride bikes, and kick the soccer ball until school starts again and my days are mine.
Fortunately, I like being with my son. He is good company. He doesn’t drive me crazy or irritate me or bore me. I’ll try to be good company for him for another month. I know he’s anxious for school to start, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment