I hate Tuesdays. They are my Mondays, I guess. First day in the week that I’m home with the kids. A week’s worth of cleaning to do, my wee-beasties hanging off my legs at every turn. I’m often frustrated by the end of the day, haggard and tired. When I coached the run clinics this past summer, I relished rushing out the door as soon as Steve came home. After the long day that is Tuesday, I was gone as fast as I could go.
Things have changed, though, and where I used to feel boredom and restlessness, I now often feel anxiety. I tried to be proactive today, pushing the girls into their snowsuits and piling them into the double stroller for a run before 8am. I vacuumed and mopped and cleaned the bathrooms before 10am. I unloaded the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen counters before 11am. I made the girls oatmeal, liberally sprinkled with brown sugar melting into warm milk for lunch. I sighed. Yes. Tuesday. The key to beating you is to stay busy.
Nap time came, and I contemplated keeping Leila awake, I honestly did, because I know what is likely to happen when the house is unnaturally quiet. But I pulled my text books off the shelves and settled into the couch. Until it started. First a small disquiet in my gut. Then the unsettled feeling of something being wrong. I shook my head, sent Steve a text, found my lost place in the book.
Once it arrives, that feeling is hard to shake. The girls woke and we went to the library. We came home to a clean house (which helps) and the laundry mostly done (which also helps).
Today wasn’t a bad day, by any stretch, and as I sit inside while the snow softly falls, we wait. For the big storm coming tonight, for Steve to come home for dinner, for the dryer to end it’s rhythmic ka-thunk-ka-thunk.
The feeling is gone, it didn’t last long or explode. But I wish it would never come. I wonder if maybe I’ve forgotten how to be alone. But I don’t think that’s the case, as my school days are quite solitary. Maybe the house just feels unnatural when it’s so quiet, even in the evenings I have Steve to talk to. Or maybe it’s just me. I’d have gladly popped a pill this afternoon, if I had one. And though I don’t want them, sometimes I do, you know? But for me, I don’t believe that the answer is in a pill.
The only answer is in my own truth, one that is being unraveled more deeply than before. As she said, If you spend any amount of time taking a really close look at yourself and your life, your most fragile fears and insecurities will come to the surface. Indeed the benefits of personal growth are invaluable, but the getting there is hard.