It's early Sunday afternoon here at the Household of No, and rain is pouring steadily from the heavens. Here's what I'm doing, besides glancing up at the ceiling every five minutes to see if we have any leaks from the hail storm that came through here earlier this week: nothing.
Ok, that's not entirely accurate. I'm writing this blog and drinking a cup of coffee.
Since I woke up, it's been raining. I had plans to hike with a friend, but in addition to the rain it was also thundering and lightning, and while I'm not adverse to a little rain on a hike it seemed to both of us like a bad idea to go outside when the radar on my phone's weather app was showing the nature preserve squarely in the middle of the Zone of Doom. So I woke up, and started doing nothing.
That's not actually right, either. I did do some stuff. I put a pot roast in the crockpot (side note: I need to remember to buy carrots and onion powder the next time I go to the grocery store), sat and thumbed through a Land's End catalog, surfed on Facebook for awhile, answered some e-mails, paid the cell phone bill, updated the iOS on my phone so that it would finally leave me alone about it, ate an English muffin for breakfast, and checked iNaturalist to see if anyone had identified a bird I'd uploaded that had me stumped.
The Son of Never Stops Eating and the Dad of No were at a Special Olympics basketball clinic and the Teenager was asleep, so the house was quiet and no one was asking about breakfast or where the colored pencils were or giving me paperwork for school that was supposed to have been turned in back in February but got "lost" in a backpack and "forgotten". I was on my own.
I felt like I should be doing more.
I have an entire list in my head of things that I should be doing: Finishing a crochet project from two years ago. Going through my closet and culling t-shirts, because they've taken over the bedroom. Baking bread from scratch. Cleaning the refrigerator and/or the pantry. Going through the fifty catalogs sitting on the kitchen counter (honestly, I could just take those out to the recycle bin). Returning phone calls. Researching candidates for local office (elections are less than two months away!). Organizing the binder that has recipes in it that I've cut out from magazines through the years. Trying to figure out how to pay for college. Taking the Son of Never Stops Eating to buy another pair of shoes, because apparently his feet grew again without checking with me first.
But I don't want to do any of that stuff right now. So why do I feel like such a slacker?
The second a woman gives birth to her firstborn, it seems like there is an unwritten Mom Rule that requires constant productivity. If you're slacking, you better also have a temperature of 102.6 from an illness that requires strict quarantine. Otherwise, there's work to be done.
Today, however, I feel fine. I just don't want to actually do anything productive, because it's raining outside, I don't actually need to be anywhere, and everyone else in the household is slacking, because they can. So I'm going to sit here, drink coffee, obsessively check my iNaturalist account, and try to figure out what the heck that iOS upgrade did to my phone.
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