What to Do, What to Do...

It's 6:47 in the morning, and I'm actually giddy. Woke up 45 minutes ago with the excitement of a 4-year-old on Christmas Day. The air outside is crisp, and a wee bit of sun is just about to peak over my neighbor's stone wall with the promise of something truly special happening within the next few hours. I have been waiting for this day since oh, just about the end of May. Uh-huh: you guessed it. It's Matt's first day back at school!

Know what this means?! Loosely translated, it means that starting today, I will have three straight hours to myself every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Three hours during which Miss Michelle and Miss Caren, Matt's preschool teachers, will work their magic on my child, saying cute things like "1-2-3, Eyes on Me" and "indoor voice." And unlike when I try my hand at this at home, Matt will turn to them with doe eyes and an ever-so-slight angelic smile and obey. Without complaint. Or whining. Those are powerful women.

Of course, this also means that I'll be at home, and I'll be wondering what the heck I'm to do with myself. For someone who CONSTANTLY has a running list in her head of tasks that must be completed, you'd think I'd have no problem strategizing and making some serious, productive use of my time. For Pete's sake, when Matt's in my care I develop a nervous eye-twitch thinking of all the things I should be doing when we're making chalk portraits on the patio, but somehow, that long, long list disappears when I return home after drop off, open the door, and put the keys on the table. The possibilities become endless. I could run through three loads of laundry (well, maybe two) from wash and dry to fold. I could dust every corner of this house so my husband will stop writing his name in the film on the TV. I could pre-order my Christmas cards. Yes, I could, but I do not.

What I do do is sit with coffee in hand and contemplate the universe, or at least my little portion of it. I dream of tearing through Matt's bedroom and his playroom, weeding out all those little nothing toys that seem to pop out of nowhere and multiply (yes, I take full responsibility for the McDonald's ones). I fantasize about emptying closets that have become the resting places for all the dearly departed junk we've collected over the past few seasons. I envision myself picking out the perfect wall color and possibly painting the kitchen and maybe even the family room, or at the very least taking a Magic Eraser to the walls and ridding myself of some scuff marks. And I delude myself into thinking that this is the year I'll turn my home into an age-appropriate, Martha Stewart-like haunted house (Matt would love that) in preparation for a spooktacular October, complete with cling-on window showcases of bats, leafless trees, and crows (that's my plan every fall...it never happens).

My daydreaming takes me from one thought to another and back again. I punctuate it here and there with making a bed, or folding a few little pairs of pants from the one load I did throw in, and checking the pantry for what I might need for dinner. Before I know it, a few hours have passed. I've now reached the bottom of my cup of joe, and while taking that last sip of a drink that's now cold, I wonder how my little guy's doing. I picture seeing that cute face as I round the corner to his classroom in just an hour or so, and the countdown to his return begins. I'm saving productivity for another morning. This one was just about dreaming.