I have always struggled with Sundays as a day of rest. I watch my husband settle down in to a comfy chair with a book or a football game. And I spin. What should I do with this time? How best should I use this time? Can I actually rest? Is it restful to just sit and read or is it more restful or paint? Last Sunday I did laundry because it was actually restful for me to get it done with Scott home, so my baby wasn’t crawling up my leg as I am trying to load the dryer.
This last Sunday was not much of a day of rest. We planned Emma’s first birthday party right after, I felt a little insecure to demand someone’s time on a Saturday. We have also joined a small group that meets on Sunday night at 5:30. So I had a few moments to rest from about four o’clock to five o’clock.
After scrubbing dishes I gave up on the pot that I burnt the bottom of, and escaped downstairs. I found myself on the couch sitting next to my husband, who was reading our small group book and watching football. Near moments after my butt hit the couch Emma woke up, so I spent a good chunk of that time snuggling with Emma while she drank her wake-up bottle. Girl wakes up slow. Once she woke up enough to turn her loose, Scott relinquished the small group book, I decided I needed to read the book so I would have something relevant to say tonight. My eyes grazed over the words absorbing nothing, I knew that all I really wanted to do was paint my nails and watch the rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on TV.
Now I don’t paint my nails often. I think the last time I did they were wrecked by that evening. The one load of dishes that I washed left the polish cracked and jagged. For whatever reason this Sunday I wanted to paint them. So I gave myself a break from my ever swirling obligations and painted. Of course Emma crawled back in front of the couch crying for the bottles of polish. As I am pretty sure that nail polish is not non-toxic, and most definitely stain-able she didn’t get them. I ran my newly dark red nails under my hair dryer to set them.
Let’s just say that within five minutes of finishing all but one nail was biffed. The left index finger was completely scraped off, I don’t know where the polish ended up. My suspicion is that a spot on my sock drawer now looks like it has been stabbed. What nail survived? You ask. The right middle finger. As if my very nails are flipping off my very attempts to self-indulge. It was then that I knew that I no longer have a half hour or so to sit and do nothing and let my nails dry.
You know when you are at the very last of the tube of toothpaste, and you turn the v’ed edges inwards, demonstrating immense digital strength, just to get that last bit out? I feel like I am always doing that with my hours. Even the times I am sitting in front of the TV I am doing something, squeezing that last ounce of usefulness out of the day.
My in-laws have a book that sits on their shelf, When I Relax I Feel Guilty. Maybe I should give it a whirl? If I can find the time…