Freedom. What a complex suggestion.
In an hour we will leave our precious sons with their Grandparents so we can have a few nights away. I can already imagine the sun gently kissing my skin as I lie on the firm sand, waves crashing inconsequentially in the background as I blissfully ignore everything that doesn’t pertain to breathing.
Wedding anniversaries – gotta love ‘em.
My initial response to the suggestion of time away was to melt in relief….ah, to have no responsibility for just a little while! But as the time approaches to walk away from those sleeping angelic forms (we shan’t mention their ‘form’ pre-dinner…) my heart sinks a little and the desire for freedom that burned so earnestly in my breast a few short hours ago seems strangely subdued.
There is the matter of perspective to consider. When your child is publicly jumping on the lounge chairs, stopping narrowly short of ripping the stuffing out, it is easy to imagine enjoying some time away…(of course that example is fictional, any resemblance to any child related to me is entirely coincidental….). When we carry through our threats and plan to leave the loves (brats) with their welcoming (shuddering) kin, we tend to draw back and consider the bigger picture.
In that moment when we focus in on the worth of what we have, the reality of what’s important and what’s not crowds in on our child–beaten (peace-starved; badgered; harangued…all work as excellent substitute words here) brains. It allows a mental gearshift.
Therein, I suppose, lies the value of the adult retreat; we can take stock and realign with our deeper selves, which is often shadowed by our fatigue and challenges.
So what I’m really trying to say is that if our boys have ever ripped the stuffing from any of your furniture or mistreated your goldfish by launching lamingtons into the tank as wanna-be boats, get over it.
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