On Sunday, the unthinkable happened. I napped. Collapsing onto the couch, I briefly attempted to remember the last time this happened. I couldn’t remember. No matter, I thought.
Then I wondered, “My god, what will the kids do?” My wife had already dozed off. I could hear her gentle breathing from the couch adjacent to the one I now occupied. I listened. In the dining room, three little voices. Chattering about drawing, negotiating colored marker use, discussing next steps about . . . well, something. The tone in their voices held contentment, engagement. They were cooperating. Playing. So, I guess I don’t need to worry? Afternoon sun flooded the room, and my eyes felt heavy. So I closed them.
And then it happened. I fell asleep. Not sure how long I was out. But when I awoke, I realized I’d taken a short break from worry. From anxiety. From decision-making. From housecleaning. From dishes. From laundry. From home-school planning. From my phone. From my laptop. From all of it.
Just for a little bit.