Recalibration Weekend

It has slowly seeped into my consciousness over the past few weeks that lately my demeanor has taken a definite turn for the...crabby. I've found myself snapping at my poor family, grousing about petty little stuff, and generally experiencing a growing sense of discontent. I partially blame this on the villain that goes by the innocuous name of "January"--cold, dark, unforgiving scoundrel that he is. But then with a stunning jolt of clarity, I realized what truly lay at the root of my problem: I. HATE. LAUNDRY. Now, I used to take this daily chore in stride; one load each morning or evening kept us ahead of the curve, easy peasy. But now the boys are wearing bigger clothes, naturally, and we all need layers to stay warm in the Winter, so the hamper, shall we say, overfloweth. Suddenly I'm bogged down in trying to keep up with the dirty apparel, and somehow, there's always more. And while I was stomping down to the washer for yet another cycle, muttering under my breath about the futility of it all, or the unfairness, or the endlessness--pick a negative aspect, and I probably touched on it--I had a second realization: it's not really all about the laundry. (I know, I know: DUH...) It's actually the whole Spectrum of Tedium (just made that up, can you tell?) that relates to the full-time, unpaid position of Household Manager. You know what I'm talking about...shopping, feeding people, checking homework, cleaning and straightening up...the million small-but-necessary tasks that suck up hours and energy each day. All of which must be accomplished in spite of a thousand distractions...and the requirement of actually interacting in a meaningful way with my beloved family as well. Sheesh, no wonder I'm worn down and fed up! I love them dearly, but these people are absolutely exhausting!

And then, just in the nick of time, Husband whisked himself and the sons away for a boys' weekend in his hometown of Pittsburgh. A testoste-road-trip, if you will. After a whirlwind of packing, the male cyclone blew out of the house in a final frenzied rush, leaving behind...a vacuum of silence so profound it almost popped my eardrums. No bickering. No clamoring for snacks. No requesting me to zip over to the store to pick up something we've run out of and desperately crave. No. Laundry. Wow. I took a few precious moments to savor the...nothingness...then heaved a sigh and got to work. Whaaaat??? Yes, the first day of Mom Freedom is always dedicated to catching up on all the silly little things that have been pushed aside by higher-priority demands. But you know what? Without time constraints to amp up stress, without interruptions to derail my progress, without the burden of a long list of other obligations pressing on my shoulders...the work seemed remarkably easier. I wouldn't go so far as "enjoyable", but at least I felt more like, say....Mary Poppins than...Cinderella. And then, wouldn't you know it, I took a breather, sat down to read, or watch TV, or some equally decadent pursuit...and was suddenly, overwhelmingly swamped with guilt. I swear I almost panicked--I should be accomplishing something at this moment, right? I'm surely wasting valuable time! What am I supposed to be DOING with my LIFE? (Yes, apparently I'm one of "those women" who succumb to feelings of worthlessness and shame if they're not actively striving to provide assistance and support to their family 24/7. Yikes. Memo to me: I reaaaallly need to work on this in the next 5 years before Derek goes to college, lest I self-destruct...)

Oh-kaaayyy--after mentally slapping myself and pulling it together, I fortunately remembered one of the invaluable perks of these rare solo weekends: JFT (Johna Fun Time). For example, on a glitteringly sunny, unseasonably warm (yesssss!) January day, that means jumping in the Subaru with my camera and taking a photo-field-trip. After some consideration, I chose a location in Baltimore called Druid Hill Park. (I learned while attending college in the city many years ago, this may be pronounced Droodle Park by "natives"...which I L-O-V-E...) A reservoir to circumnavigate, joggers and amblers and dog-walkers to watch, (each and every one of whom, no matter what their pace or how hard they were panting with exertion, nodded and called out "good morning". I had forgotten how friendly Bal-mer can be...which I also L-O-V-E...) statues and interesting buildings to snap...self-prescribed Decompression Therapy doesn't get much more pleasant than that, if you ask me! I don't know if it was the gentle touch of sunshine, the almost-balmy breeze, the light exercise, the abundant fresh air--or "all of the above"--but I could sense my breathing slowing down and my mood lifting during the course of my excursion. Whatever the reason, when the boys return tonight, they should find a refreshed, more-balanced, less-lunatic wife and mother to greet them...and all the laundry they bring back!