Every Mom Needs a Re-Charge
by Karen Edmisten in Family on Thursday, September 16, 2010 6:00 AM
He does it a couple of times a year. Packs the kids up and loads them into the van. As I deliver a final hug, I whisper to my husband, “Drive carefully—you’ve got my whole life in that van.”
He indulges my concern, smiles, promises to be careful, and tells me to enjoy myself. Then he whisks my girls away for an overnight father/daughter getaway. I shut the door and face an empty house.
Then I do a little happy dance.
Don’t get me wrong. I mean it when I say, “My whole life is in that van.” It is. I mean it when I tell them I’ll miss them. I will. And I’m sincere when I gush that I’m ecstatic to be alone for twenty-four hours. Oh boy, am I.
I’m an introvert. In contemporary Personality-Type-Lingo, that means that although I enjoy the company of other people I need—in order to recharge my batteries and my interactive capabilities—some time alone.
I’m also a homeschooling mom. In contemporary This-Is-My-Life-Lingo, that means I’m rarely alone. In the shower? Okay, yes, I usually get to shower uninterrupted (though I still sometimes field emergency inquiries, such as, “Mom! Where’s my fairy tale novel T-shirt?” while washing my hair).
Walking the dog in the wee hours of the morning? Alone. Check. (No one else is up.)
The rest of the time? Nuh-uh. Solitude is not a steady state of being.
I’m in good and constant company, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But, given the introverted piece of my personality puzzle, I admit that any plan that includes an entire day sans questions through the bathroom door, requests for bites of my dark chocolate, summaries of Phineas and Ferb episodes, or sighs over what’s for dinner is a plan I can call a vacation.
What do I do all alone while my family is gadding about? The first thing I do is to care very little about what I eat. I promise myself not to sigh at my menu plan. (“Why, Karen, I’m glad you asked! Since we’re alone, we’re having tuna straight out of the can tonight! Let’s celebrate that no one cares! And that there are no dishes to wash!”) Perhaps I’m not usually quite that lazy—I have eaten tuna straight from a can, but I’ve also indulged in take-out Chinese. Either way, it’s a dish-free night, and that’s my vacation mode.
My other plans for these little getaways (or shall I label them, “Go-Aways” since it’s the others who go away?) might be considered humdrum by many. I read, whatever I want for as long as I want. I write, an article, a blog post, a letter, or a journal entry. I watch a movie, usually something my husband can’t stand. I stay up late and sleep late. I pray. I relax. Just as a battery plugged into a charging station is silent and still, I don’t appear to be doing much. But inside, things are humming.
My “Go -Away” weekends happen whenever my husband senses my need for them. These little trips are both nothing and everything. He insists that they’re nothing, that a hotel room and a couple of modest meals out are not going to break the budget. He argues that it’s great for everyone—he gets bonding time with his daughters, the girls have a fun getaway, and I get a break.
In that way, yes, they’re nothing. But to this introvert, they’re everything. Hotel rooms and restaurants aren’t everyday happenings for our family, so “Go-aways” feel special; they do take planning, time, and a little extra cash. But more than that, these weekends are a need perceived, a gift given, and love in action.
The real point is not that every woman must convince her husband to load the kids up and tote them away twice a year. Rather, the point is that we all need a “nothing and everything” gift now and then.
The “Go-Away” works for me, but it might not for you. Are you an extrovert? You might need someone to throw you a surprise party. Does it seem impossible to fit prayer into the day? It might be tough to make a holy hour, but what about a holy half-hour? Surely there’s something you’d like that requires only a little extra effort on the part of your spouse, but would feel like an enormous gift. So take inventory, then sit down with your husband and talk it over. What will recharge your batteries? What about his?
It’s a simple formula: needs perceived, gifts given, love in action. When one of our “Go-Aways” is over, I’m always thrilled and ready to see my whole life pull back into our driveway. Recharge complete. Everyone’s humming.
— Karen Edmisten is author of The Rosary: Keeping Company with Jesus and Mary. Read her blog at KarenEdmisten.Blogspot.com.
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