I didn’t know I was stressed until my husband tactfully encouraged me to go for a run.
The day was sunny, and the countryside was relatively quiet, but running wasn’t on the LIST for the day.
The dreaded LIST.
Dirty windows, dirty laundry, dirty floors…most things on the LIST needed soap and water, in one form or another. I HAD to get it done.
Because I thought it should all be done.
In reality, nobody else cared about the LIST. Sure windows are supposed to be clear, and not tinted with farm dust and kid-smudges.
But the children had clean clothes to wear, and as for the floor, well, nobody is crawling around on it anymore except for the dog, and he LIKES it dirty.
The stress of the LIST must’ve crept out over coffee somehow. Maybe it was the way I helpfully advised my husband as he made omelets for the six of us.
“Don’t use that pan.”
“You have the heat too high.”
“Can you use real eggs?”
“The heat is too high!”
“They’re not as fluffy as I make them.”
“You need more patience.”
“I told you the heat was too high.”
I don’t think I said “Thank you,” even once.
No wonder he suggested I go for a run.
Okay, so maybe he was just trying to get rid of me, but then he said something really nice.
He told the kids that when their mother goes for a run, all her stress bubbles just float away.
And I could just picture it: me running through the lovely Franconian countryside, a trail of muddy stress bubbles rising up from my head, or my heart, or wherever they hide, and dissipating far above in the atmosphere, where they couldn’t hurt anybody.
As for the LIST, it still has three items on it, but those things will be crossed off, one at a time, just after I go for a run.