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Do-Nothing Sundays.

The sun pours in the living room window as I walk out of the bedroom, groggy but smiling as I tie my robe around my waist. Its still and quiet as Anthony sips his coffee and as his son, still in his own sleepy stupor, lounges quietly on the couch. Anthony's daughter is still asleep in the bed I just crawled out of. I savor the peace as I snuggle against Anthony and sip on my coffee.

Shortly we are all up and off to the farm market. I have the option to go straight to dance but somehow a piece of me longs for the chaotic playfulness of the market and the familial experience. We get croissants and chai and lay out a blanket on the grass. The chaos of shuffling money and kids wandering off overwhelms me a bit. They run to and fro and then they need a pancake and then a juice, but they can’t decide on a flavor and the pancake place doesn’t have whipped cream anymore, and the kids get the juice and they fight over it. Every outburst from them, every baby crying jars me slightly. I turn around and can’t spot them and I feel my nerves grate a little more. The other moms and dads in their own worlds of trying to keep everything afloat. Somehow every little accomplishment is a victory. They like the pancake - victory! We make it out of the market without forgetting anything - victory!

Off I go to dance after everyone is fed. A reprieve from the world of kids yet somehow I also can’t wait to get back to them and to Anthony. I whirl in a room of mainly gray haired folks. Noticing my ability to let go in the dance, to let my body shake and undulate however it wants and not giving a shit who watches. Noticing there isn’t a lot of movement like that in this room. Noticing how hard it is for me to find this ability to let go when it comes to my newest challenge - parenting.

I bounce out the door as I put on my sandals, the beat is still in my body. It’s an abrupt halt to that beautiful melody in my body as I enter the urban harshly constructed and vehicle jammed streets of Santa Monica. Then I am off to run errands to get ready for our move. I am relieved to be out of the crowded over stimulated shopping central.

The feeling of anxiety about the move, about being a house mom and making sure I get juice, of worrying about whether to get a car or just use Uber all pour through me. As I get my errands done one by one the peace comes back slowly.

I am back home preparing some juices for the kids, the kitchen window cracked and a breeze comes in. Peace. I complete my tasks and tell myself its time to relax. The feeling of my worth coming from my tasking is present to me. Noticing I am letting go, but not till the tasks are done. And not until I find peace at home.

I sit on the couch and the kids come back home, they draw on the kitchen counter. I sit down to read and flip my book open to a story about a woman settling into her anxiousness about “do-nothing Sundays.” She recounts that from her time growing up as a Jewish kid in the midwest she had anxiety on Sundays when there was nothing to "do."

It’s so uncanny to discover this tale right now. I realize that part of my anxiety earlier inside the chaos of the market and my resistance to the shopping mall in Santa Monica was resisting to fully accept a "do-nothing day." So I sink into my own anxiety deeply and it subsides. I become free of it.

All the worry about doing or not doing falls away and I am drawn to my laptop to write this account.

The rest of the evening passes fluidly. I sit quietly and enjoy eating with the kids. Enjoy them watching movies as I read some more.

Falling into the rhythm of this stage of life.


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