Today, I am “not adulting.” I am closing the door to everything that has led to being exhausted. Since I have been “doing” for so long, I’ve lost me.
“Not Adulting” means:
I will not wake up at 3:00 am to see if my child is sleeping or check the medical monitor that will continue to work without my worried presence.
I will smile at the neighbor or mailman who frowns on my parenting because my son loves to run outside without clothes, and sometimes that includes the front yard.
I will smile at the freedom he has running barefoot in the grass and not worrying about who is looking.
I won’t have three menu choices for two kids whose diet is always scheduled.
I will spend money to call out for dinner and answer the door most likely in my PJs, giving a big tip because who knows what is happening in the driver’s life.
I will ask for help.
I will close my door and take a nap, knowing my husband is more than capable to care for my son without my assistance.
Not Adulting
I won’t answer the phone, call a doctor, pay a bill, check insurance, and, heaven forbid, I won’t visit the pharmacy for the third time this week.
I won’t “explore” Dr. Google for the latest treatment, remedy, or therapeutic advice.
I will say no to . . .
I won’t feel guilty about . . .
I won’t vacuum up the spilled gluten-free cheerios because I won’t be vacuuming today.
I will cry if I need to for as long as I need to.
I will play in the kiddie blow-up pool and not worry about having a mismatched bathing suit, stretch marks, or cellulite.
I will let the kids have messy faces because they are playing, and play for kids is part of growing up.
I won’t wash the dishes, fold the clothes, or care that half the laundry is filled with socks that don’t match.
I won’t worry about the clothes I forgot to put in the dryer. If they sour, tomorrow will come soon enough. The washer will work tomorrow just as good as it works every other day.
In fact, I’ll leave the laundry door closed.
I will not care about the dust on my ceiling fans, the unwashed dishes piled in the sink, or the stains on my sofa.
I will giggle as I make a chocolate-milk smile and kiss my husband.
I will overlook my puffy eyes, aging skin, and the body parts that have dropped a few inches since high school.
I won’t feel pressure to explain why I walk slowly or stop to look at the balloon-shaped white clouds drifting across the baby blue Texas sky.
I will be kind, not because I’m longing for pity but because it’s right and nice to be kind.
I guess another way of saying I am “not adulting” is really saying, “I’m choosing to trust my Savior who never sleeps or slumbers, who is over all things and is calling me to rest, breathe, and remember He is my Father and calls me as His child to rest in Him.”
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