The Lost Art of Communing

Once or twice a week, the kids go for the entire morning to a recreation program at a local park. It's fun. It's free. It's for all four older kids, who go and stay quite happily, playing games like Capture the Flag, and doing crafts. It's a no-brainer. Usually Scarlett and I enjoy the quiet at home, where she often takes a nap, and I spend a couple hours cleaning. At this point in my life, a couple hours of uninterrupted cleaning is like a gift, and I feel almost giddy with the peaceful freedom of it.

But it's still just cleaning.

I've thought about how I would like to just sit and enjoy a quiet cup of coffee instead, but every morning, there are dirty dishes staring at me, and umpteen loads of laundry calling my name, so I've never quite gotten around to spending one of these park mornings relaxing. Until today, that is, when a friend brought over her new baby, and no one had to twist my arm to leave the breakfast dishes in the dining room and just sit. We chatted. We laughed. I sighed over her sweet newborn boy as he nuzzled against her chest, or nursed contentedly, and she laughed as she watched my one year-old baby demonstrate her upside-down nursing skills, or babble and giggle. We shared funny stories and serious ones, commiserated with each other about motherhood, and communed as women.

I don't know about everyone else, but I hardly ever drop everything and spend two hours just visiting, just being. I suspect this is a lost art in the whole of our society, which is sad, because on a personal level, I wish it were more a part of my life. Today I found it restful for the body and refreshing for the soul, and I hope my friend heeds an open invitation to bring herself and her darling baby over anytime she likes!