It's been really crazy lately--one of those stretches when we barely have time to breathe, when one event barely ends and the next is beginning, when Henry and I found ourselves asking the dreaded question, "Will we ever have a date night again?" and truly thinking that it's possible that we may not. And that question was followed by "Why does everything happen all at once?"
So tonight, I left work a little late because I have a project with a looming deadline that I probably won't make, ran a few errands, and arrived home around 6:00. Jonathan was at his grandparents' house, and Katie doesn't come home for Christmas break until tomorrow night. Just Henry and me. And nothing we had to do, no place we had to go, no one to transport anywhere.
We didn't get any meat out of the freezer for dinner, so Henry suggested we just clean up some leftovers, which made dinner--and clean-up--quick and easy. In one of those this-almost-never-happens moments, we realized that it was 7:00--and really didn't have anything we had to do. And this is how the conversation went:
Annette: I feel like I should be doing something.
Henry: We should go for a walk.
Annette: It's 24 degrees outside.
Henry: People mall walk. We should mall walk.
Annette: Where do you want to go?
Henry: Meijer?
Annette: I don't think we'd be able to get much exercise there. I should just go to the mall and go Christmas shopping.
Henry: What are you going to get?
Annette: I don't know.
Henry: Then don't go.
Annette: What are you going to do? Do you need to work?
Henry: We could . . . relax.
Annette: Well, what are you going to do to relax?
Henry: We could read . . . watch Doc Martin, Monk, or Cranford.
Annette: Hmmm . . . read . . . I could blog! And we could listen to music.
And so it's official. We've turned into those people who don't know how to relax.We even have to work hard to figure out how we're going to relax. And even as I type this, I'm thinking that there must be something that I should be doing. But I'm just going to breathe and dream of that great Christmas tradition--the one with Mama in her kerchief and Papa in his cap, just settling down for a long winter's nap. And maybe I'll read.
