I am alone in my house for the first time since we moved. Since July 7th. And instead of relishing it, I’m quietly freaking out.
The July 7th date is just what I can remember, but since Letty was born I haven’t had a day to myself that wasn’t carefully orchestrated. A few hours here or there, planned with a babysitter or friend so I could have lunch out, or visit a doctor or dentist by myself. Other than that, I have had at least one child, usually two or three as my constant companions.
Now with the boys at least quasi-permanently ensconced in public school and Letty tucked away in preschool several mornings a week I find myself alone, at the kitchen table, listening to the rain.
I can’t even enjoy it.
It’s not that I don’t have plenty to occupy myself. The house alone could take up all the hours I have available. There is always cleaning, laundry, toys to go through, closets to clean out. We are also two days past due on grocery shopping. I could do that. Instead I sit here, nervous energy coursing through me.
I realized, driving home from Letty’s school, this marks a transition for me. As teachers and friends fill my children’s needs more and more during the day, I feel less needed. My job for the last 8 years is being downsized, a corporate restructuring if you will.
I also know myself, and as this change becomes more comfortable I will fill my days. I will volunteer at the kids’ schools, and I will make time for seeing friends. I may do a little sewing and a little blogging. I may even get the house clean and those closets organized.
Today I’m going to listen to the rain. I’m going to sit with the alone-ness and appreciate it for what it is.