For a small monthly fee I am granted a large luxury. I don’t have my nails done, I don’t go for drinks with the girls, nor do I get a massage and a facial. Nope, it’s much simpler than that… I have 45 minutes per week in which I am permitted, no, expected, to do nothing. Nothing at all, other than wait, in quiet solitude, and it’s absolutely heavenly.
I suppose I could be productive like the moms who drop off their children and go next door to the supermarket, or the dads who are constantly on their PDA’s or furiously writing in their datebooks, but I choose to stay put (partly because my daughter makes me pinkie-swear not to leave: long story about a little girl having to stay for the next class because mom got caught up in the grocery store). Some weeks I simply settle in with my Kindle. Other weeks (like this one), I bring my laptop to draft columns or blogposts.
Although, it’s not really a therapeutic decompression session that my dance check pays for, I like to think that in addition to the exercise, socialization, and artistic skill my daughter is gaining, I also regain a part of my sanity. I love my daughter and my husband to the moon and back, but sometimes after a long Tuesday, I truly look forward to simply waiting at dance class.