I’m having a moment of time. Yes, a moment. And I’m having it. Not taking. Having. It’s mine.
The boys have gone to the ‘big farm’ today leaving me with four hours of time to have. In that time, I have an hour and twenty minutes run to do. It felt heavy, cumbersome and awkward. A lingering Trans-Tasman flu that struck our house down has left me tight in the throat and coughing up chunks. Mid-week ‘run’ turned into a mid-week walk with faster-shuffling interludes. My time to have on my feet.
Leisurely time to have to lie prone and peaceful on the tortuous acupressure mat without a child climbing on me. Time to drift in the Instagram maze and not feel guilted by the ah-maz-ing images. My time to have dreaming.
It’s time for more mundane personal care. I have hair to wash but will have to set aside more time to tame the inch long hairs on my legs. I might even need to get a permit for removal of old growth. Time will tell.
In the time I have, the dishes, washing and vacuuming will go undone. A visit to a nice cafe (not one I care to share with children at heel) for a cuppa or two. A little quiet grown-up time for reading, writing and gazing out the window contemplating nothing. My time to sit in the sunshine, sipping a coffee.
I have a few hours that are mine. And I’m having them, enjoying them. They are mine.