Doing Nothing

It's an atypical Saturday.   There is nothing on my to-do list, technically.  No place I have to be right now, no time crunch.  Or at least that's what I told myself yesterday and told my husband last night when we sat down to figure out our weekend.  And yet, it is 3:00 pm and it's the first time I sat down since 9:00 this morning.  I took one kid to the eye doctor, ran to the pharmacy, took clothes over to the clothing drive, made a return at target (ours really does have a little t), picked up a couple groceries, got gas, and returned a book to the library.  That was my nothing day.  And that doesn't include what I did at home, like cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry, and packing for our trip tomorrow to take Jay back to school.  But that's what constitutes Nothing these days.  There were no baseball games, no crew regattas, or plays, or cross country meets, no major purchases to make, (next week we have to buy a storm door).  No parties to host, nothing to fix, no projects that have to get done RIGHT NOW.  So that's called Nothing.  Kinda weird, right?  Just because I didn't need a to-do list to do what I did, it doesn't count.  It's nothing.

Every year for back to school night I share a poem called "I Did Nothing At School Today," that typifies what an elementary school student might say when he gets home from school.  And yet it chronicles all the things that he actually did do, like making a new friend, feeding the fish, or learning a new math strategy or to tie his shoe.  The funny thing is, that's where I am now.  If someone asked me, I might say I did nothing today.  I really didn't get anything accomplished, I didn't climb Mt. Everest, or even get a new haircut.  I didn't visit a farm to pick pumpkins, or wash the car, or paint the house.  I wasn't a success at anything, I didn't even exercise.  (I actually ate a bunch of carbs too, which isn't good.)  I have nothing to share because it's not all that exciting.  But it's a shame, because I feel like I need a little credit for the nothing I did do.  In fact, you might give me more credit if I did less, if I could say, "Oh, I just laid in bed and read a book and meditated and relaxed and drank green tea."  Yeah, that'd be even better - that would count as Something.

I remember going to yoga and while we were warming up in Downward Dog position, the Yogi said, "This position is going to feel like rest soon..." and I kind of cursed him right then because I was working pretty hard with hips and arms and legs and neck and core.  But then after going through Sun Salutations, and Warriors, and Triangles, and Flipping-our-dogs, and Wheels, and Whatnots, Downward Dog really did start to feel like rest. I couldn't believe it.  It was there that I could finally catch my breath and didn't have to move so much.  And even though I was active, I felt like I was resting.

So maybe that's what is happening now.  After spending days, months, decades running after four toddlers and then four school-age kids, and managing home and hectic work schedules, and traveling, and doing sports (like four different sports for four different kids in four different places all in the space of an hour) and running races and going grocery shopping and housecleaning, and all that, just managing one doctor appointment IS nothing.  It's the Downward Dog Position of Motherhood.  I can hang my head and catch my breath and I don't need to run around everywhere with everybody.  We have four drivers at home this weekend and so I don't have to take anybody out to buy new shoes.  They are out doing their own shopping.  They are going to work on their own and I don't need to be involved.  So I'll just rest here - a very active rest of making dinner and hanging a few picture frames.  Maybe I might even take a nap.  But not a full nap, an active nap because I'll keep one ear open in case the phone rings, because with two teenage drivers on the road, who knows when you are going to get that phone call?  But it will be restful.  Just a different kind of rest.
I hope you have days of Nothing and that they count for Something.  And I hope you get some rest.  And if you are still in the endless loop of running around after your kids and your list, just know that one day you will rest.  Just maybe not nap.

Welcoming

Welcome back, welcome home, welcome in, you're welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome.  Every September I put these words all over my classroom- on the door, in the halls, on their desks.  It has a ring to it: Welcome back.  Jay is home from college for fall break and of course we all say Welcome Home.  It has such meaning now that he is living somewhere else most of the year.  It's not something we say to just anyone, it is reserved for special people coming back to a special place.
I recently opened a meditation entitled, "Welcome".  I wasn't sure what to expect, but what happened was definitely not something I expected.  I just thought it was some ordinary talk about getting back to what you loved maybe, or going back to a place like home.  Not at all.  The speaker invited you to think of the last time someone made you feel welcome, with a hug, or a greeting, or an offer of a cup of tea.  She said to think of the last time someone gave you that big warm welcoming hug that made you feel loved.  Well, I have to be honest, it brought me to tears.  I suddenly had these images of my grandmother, who I hadn't thought of in a while, but who never failed to make me feel welcome.  Even in her last days when her body couldn't move too freely she would swing her arms wide and gather you up for a great, warm, loving hug.  I missed her so much right then, her open happy smile, her bright, shining eyes, and her love.  And it made me cry - that is a welcome I miss.
These days when I try to hug my kids, I'm usually greeted with a stiff arm swipe across the back or maybe a quick pat.  They hold their necks as if to say, "Don't you dare try to kiss my cheek!"  It's not very welcome.  And it urges me to give up.  But you know what, I won't.  I want my kids to feel welcome every time they see me.  You never know when they may really be needing that hug, and I'm not going to hold back.  Maybe someday they'll be missing me and the hugs I give now will remind them of just how much they are loved.  So they are just going to have to deal with it.
I think of others too - the people I work with or friends I don't see much.  How often do they feel welcome?  The other day I ran into an old friend and our hands were both full at the time and we didn't hug, but I think he knew from my smile that I was happy to see him and that I was welcoming him back.  Sometimes there are reasons for us to hold back from hugging and truly welcoming another, but there shouldn't be many.  Pass on the love!  Welcome someone home.  Welcome someone back.  You may never know how much they need to feel welcomed.  Find someone who makes you feel welcome too.