Planning Still

Oops, you're thinking. KC has posted this picture upside-down.

Actually, no. I took this picture to give you perspective of perhaps the most accomplished moment of my day. I was lying supine on the floor in our entryway. And that is a picture of my view from there.

I wasn't sick, I wasn't injured, not depressed, not even crabby. On the contrary, I was not contrary, but quite happy and peaceful. I. Was. Still.

The past couple of weeks, heck, even the last month or two has kept me running. Work has been nuts, and our little family of 3 has had social engagements every weekend and several evenings a week since it was warm enough to run through a sprinkler. Our child is years away from being in school; we have no sports, no conferenes with teachers, no recitals, and yet we find ourselves without a single blank white square on our calender.

Not that I'm complaining. I love being busy. I love people, I love doing things, I love celebrations. Potlucks and parties and dinners and family and friends and trips to the zoo. And apple orchards, pontoon rides, choir practice, Target runs, weddings and showers and birthday parties. And hay rides and playdates and ice cream socials. And cooking parties.

When I think about what I'm going to do to wind down for the night, when I picture what I might do in my pajamas for 2.5 minutes until my eyelids get heavy, I am still planning. Should I read, or should I blog? Catch up on e-mail, or pick an unread magazine from the past four months? I know, maybe I'll take a bath! Or paint my toenails already. From time to time, as it did this evening, it hits me: I need to not still be planning, but planning still.

After a most delectable dinner and glorious time with friends tonight, I brought Oliver up to bed and then returned to the entryway (sorry, I just can't say "foyer," we are not people fancy or old enough to have one of those), to pet the cat. Liesel has this thing about being pet on the rug there. But after she had enough of my attention and trotted away, I lay there on the rug, staring up at the ceiling. Michael asked if I was okay, and suggested a few times that I should go upstairs. Certainly, yes, I'm exhausted, not unlike every other minute of the day. But there was something about lying perfectly still, listening to nothing, planning nothing, doing, blessedly, nothing. I studied the construction of my eyeglasses. I considered the shade of blue in our office. And that's about all I did.

Michael tried one more time to get me to move. "Come upstairs," he said. "Write a blog."

And so I write, still.