Accomplishing a lot by doing nothing

It is time to build a front porch.

Actually, no, it is not.

It is time to start doing the things one does on a front porch.

THIS WEEKEND was far busier than the week. It is harvest time in the garden, which means I’m picking dozens of tomatoes every day. They come all at once and begin rotting all at once, so the way to preserve them is all at once.

But who wants 80 jars of homemade spaghetti sauce or 120 jars of salsa or any quantity greater than 50 of any one type of tomato-based preserve? No one. That’s who. So I was busy making and preserving whatever I found that called for massive quantities of tomatoes.

And since it rains every day now, I had to spend five hours cutting grass. I had usual housework to do. Etc., etc., etc. Sprinkle in watching a 2 1/2 –year-old who is in full-swing with his toddler antics (unrolling toilet paper, unloading shoe racks onto the floor, emptying boxes of cereal he grabs off the counter, terrorizing the dog, intentionally dumping food in the kitchen … and so on), and this gets much more complicated.

And stressful.

And difficult.

And less enjoyable.

Then, suddenly, abruptly and amazingly Sunday evening, I was reminded of the things that actually matter.

After his bath, I sat in a living room chair to take a break. Some show on the Disney Junior channel played on TV while he slouched over a pillow on the couch, clutching his fire truck, gazing at the screen. Normally, I read to him this time of night. I read to my daughter all of the time when she was his age and she could read herself a month into kindergarten. But for some reason, I was compelled to sit on the couch next to him and do nothing. No reading, talking, playing or telling him to take care of his toys on the floor. He acted surprised — as if to say, “You’re really just going to sit with me and do nothing?” Then he put his head on my shoulder and we watched TV.

Eventually he fidgeted enough that lying on the sofa was more practical, so we did that. Then we did it some more, as the sunset beamed through the windows, silhouetting his tiny head. I wondered why it had taken me all weekend to do this — this nothing with him. Truly, the highlight of my weekend came Sunday evening when I got nothing done.

IN THAT FLEETING moment, I wanted to go back in time and do the same thing with my daughter, who is presently in her fourth straight week away from home. But I couldn’t. Duh. Everyone knows you can’t go back in time. And besides, I know she’s gone away for so long by choice because I’m constantly on her case to help me with these tasks around the house that she doesn’t really care about in the first place.

I miss her being that small. I miss her looking at me as her favorite person, place or thing. I miss her just being herself … before the world of pre-teens transformed her into a being constantly worried about how she is perceived, looks, dresses or if her eyebrows are “bushy.” People say each stage of a child’s life is beautiful in its own way, but I don’t think so. The middle school years suck. There’s nothing enjoyable about seeing your child bounce from persona to persona, friend to friend or group to group — just “trying to find who they are” — when you, as a parent, are thinking they’re already the most beautiful thing in the world.

I really miss Kalista just being Kalista.

AS FOR KALOB, he’s still got plenty of time just being himself … that wild, curly-headed boy who knows only love. He is a gem to me. As I did with his sister, I love every moment with him, no matter how stressful, overwhelming or unpredictable each may be. Sure, it slows down progress when he’s shadowing me around the house, but I never stop being flattered knowing I’m the one he’s trying to emulate.

But do I really want him to grow up not knowing how to just sit?

So, like I said, we need a front porch. Not a dinky platform outside the door just big enough for two chairs, but a damn porch that will hold rocking chairs, a swing, toddler toys and memories. But that’s another weekend killer. That’s less free time.

I guess the couch at sunset will have to do for now.

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