Taking a Break

Lately my husband has been away more than usual. And while I don't mind it (I'm not a saint, just used to it), I'm programmed to think that I need a break once he's back. Today I had just such an opportunity. I grabbed the car keys and was gone before the kids could ask "wh...? Once I'm out, I almost never do anything fun, frivolous or irresponsible. I usually tackle to-dos. Today I did a favor for my dad, returned some purchases, bought a hand-mixer to replace a broken one, and shopped for all-season tires. My break lasted about three hours including travel time. But when I got back to the house, the chaos that hit me at the door was so much more than I could handle. It never fails, my kids sense my disorientation and regularly assault me on all fronts. I felt like a scuba diver who surfaced without taking time to make decompression stops. I nearly had the bends. I tried to get my game-face on, hoisting the chicken from the fridge. Over the next two hours, I struggled to get my chicken ready to roast, practiced math with the oldest, read a pile of books to the youngest, and fawned over my middle child's latest Lego creations. The idea of a break works better if it actually feels like one. Racing against time to get errands done just isn't relaxing, no matter what's playing on the radio. Next time, I need to stay put. On the rare occasion when I've announced that I'm going out to garden, or heading to my paper piles to sort and file, I've fared far better. I get a break and I accomplish something that alleviates more stress than errands. And, I'm not too far out of the mainstream to suffer the throngs of re-entry once I'm finished.