Solitude

There was a time when I did not appreciate solitude. In fact, solitude was often confused with loneliness. Back in my post-college single days, it seemed that virtually all my time was spent alone, and rather than revel in the fact that, if so inclined, I could put on my pajamas right after work and eat ice cream for dinner, I recall it as a time of restlessness and emptiness. Looking back, I sort of want to grab that silly, angsty girl by the scruff of the neck and give her a good talking to about enjoying and appreciating each season life offers, but I doubt she would have listened. In those days, I perceived being alone as a sort of social stigma. What sort of loser sits at home on Saturday night, watching Andy Griffith reruns? I entertained notions of myself as an aspiring cat lady, who would grow old and eccentric and frighten small children.

My how things change. Today, I find myself with the rare luxury of an entire day, all to myself. Parenting is the most beautiful, rewarding, and inspiring job I've ever experienced, but it can also be the most exasperating, frustrating, and exhausting. And sometimes, Mama just needs a break. So when my grandmother and aunt asked if they could borrow Kate for a day, I eagerly handed her off, and rushed home to revel in my day of solitude. I have big plans for an afternoon of reading (a non-rhyming book, without pictures!), cooking, baking, knitting, and perhaps even a solitary walk in the woods when it cools off later in the day. Kate will rejoin me this evening, and after a day away from her, I'll be more than ready to read Peter Rabbit as many times as she wants. Mark is on a business trip for the next two days, and while I would rather have him here with me, I'm making the most of it, which means trying a new recipe for dinner (one that my dear one of the picky palate would never dream of eating), and lining up the Netflix instant queue with movies entirely of my own choosing. In small doses, solitude is a very good thing indeed.