Today marks the end of my mum-cation – the week I’ve had alone in the house, and it wasn’t until a text from my sister-in-law Katie, that I wondered if I did it wrong. Katie is Lou’s mum, and she said that since she figures that she’s about 20 years away from the kind of freedom I enjoyed this week, that she really hoped it had been a week of margaritas, long baths and takeaway dinners, and the minute I read that, I felt like I’d wasted an opportunity in the most horrible way. I don’t mind missing out on the margaritas, I don’t really care for them (tequila flashback to important lesson learned when I was 19) but when I thought of the idea of the takeaway, I was furious with myself for cooking.
The thing is, for someone as deeply introverted as I am, just this much alone time has been delicious all by itself, and there was something brilliant about still cleaning the kitchen, but cleaning it alone – or getting up in the morning and not encountering a soul, or thinking in a nice straight line all afternoon without interruption. I may not have had takeaway, but I did stay up late writing, curled in my office chair, long past the time when the company of my family would have reminded me of the hours that normal people keep. I felt like those were my treats, and I like that better than margaritas. (Still pissed about the cooking. Why didn’t I think of takeaway?)
The interesting thing was my knitting and spinning output. I had these wild visions of kilos of roving passing though the wheel. Whole sweaters flying off of the needles… at the very least I was sure I would finish Lizette. It only needed a front and short sleeves, for crying out loud. I would probably start and finish Flow, and some socks. For sure socks. And Omelet! I was free! I had nobody at home! I was only taking care of myself! How hard could it be?
Turns out, pretty hard. Between the riding (the riding takes up a lot of knitting time. I can’t wait until August. I’m going to knit the daylights out of August. August is going to be like a frat party of knitting) and the fact that just being alone doesn’t really change the number of hours a day I work (might have increased it, actually) it means something really profound.
All these years that I’ve thought that if only the kids were gone I’d get so much knitting done? They’re not the ones holding me back. I think the family actually helps me get knitting done. When they’re not home, I don’t watch movies, go places in the car… sit in the backyard and talk – all prime knitting time. Turns out I’m my problem, not them – but I’d rather you didn’t mention it.
PS. I wrote this post in the back of a cab, on my way to the airport. I fly to Vancouver today, and Joe and Sam fly to Toronto.
Despite how much I loved being alone, I really missed them. I can’t believe I won’t see them for 5 more days.
PPS. I have Omelet packed for the plane. I think I can finish.
How hard can it be?