It’s Saturday, I’m single, and I’m sleeping in.
I’ve had about two weeks (maybe longer?) worth of working until midnight and waking at 6. I’m exhausted. I used to pull late nights a lot when I was in my twenties, but I ain’t in my twenties anymore. This pace has only been possible because each morning, I have prayed for God to give me the power to do whatever it was I was supposed to do that day. And He has provided just enough. The cup does not always runneth over.
Sleeping in is a luxury I didn’t always allow myself, especially when I was married. I told myself there was “too much to do.” So I’d leap out of bed by 6, take my shower, frantically work on laundry or freelance projects until the kids woke up, feed and dress them, get them entertained, do the dishes, and be ready for a nap by 10. At which point I would go to my bedroom and feed my resentment that the man I married was still snoring, and was preventing me from making the bed.
(He’s still my Facebook friend and may very well be reading this and feeding his own resentment right now!)
I need to be fair. He worked (and still does) at a very stressful and often thankless job as a computer developer for people who often change their minds about what they want from his team but still expect the project to be completed on time. If I had to work with that for 50 hours a week, I would never get out of bed on a weekend, and probably have trouble getting up on week days too.
Funny how I developed this compassion only when the source of my resentment moved out, isn’t it?
Something else happened when he moved out. I started to sleep in. First on weekends. Then I started have trouble with week days too. I’d still get up, but gone was the frantic energy that propelled me before.
I also stopped making the bed every day. There was no one here to torture with my bed-making perfectionism.
It seems I was fueled by anger and an arrogant belief that being a morning person made me “better than” my ex. It was quite humbling to find that I really was no different than him when it came to weekend rest needs.
Today, I hope he sleeps in. I hope he takes care of himself. I hope he gets the rest he needs to be the best dad and provider he can be. I don’t begrudge him the long morning wake up routine. Nor do I deprive myself.
I make the bed because I want to do it for me, not to prove a point or rub salt in a wound.
I do the housework and childcare at a pace that works for me, not out of competition with someone who wasn’t even aware there was a contest going on.
And if I don’t have kids on a weekend, I enjoy the luxury of laying in bed, browsing my Facebook and Pinterest feeds, and closing my eyes every now and then.
Productivity has its place. It’s place is not this Saturday morning!