Do Parents ever really get a holiday?
I am writing this from a villa in Italy. We have been really lucky to be invited here by some dear friends who own the villa. Our children are in summer warmth heaven. The swimming pool, the trip to the beach, the cold fresh watermelon, the amazing italian ice cream, the delightful night sky and bright moon, the fresh pizza’s out of the pizza oven…
It really is a holiday !
And yet, I still have to do the laundry, pick up the toys, do my part to help with the cooking and clearing up. Admittedly there is more time in the day, I’m not on client calls, I’m not working on the website or doing much emailing and I even have managed to read a few novels…I’ve even picked up a tan, wow must be holiday…
And there is always something to work on. My son cutting his foot, my daughter feeling left out because there are three boys here and she is the only girl, the itching from the mosquito bites, the thunder and rain yesterday… it’s all giving situations to get worked up about.
I wonder can I really give myself a holiday? And I see that the real holiday I am craving is a break from my thoughts. To be free from my stressful thinking – now that’s a real break. A vacation from the thinking about the worries of today, the fears of an imagined future, the comparisons to the made up past. A break would be from worrying about the kids. A gap in the usual run of thoughts about this that or the other fear, concern, or anxiety.
That kind of holiday is available to us 365 days a year ! Amazing isn’t it. I think that a trip to Italy will give me the break I need (and don’t get me wrong I LOVE Italy) when actually the holiday or holy day that I am seeking can be found each and every day can give me rest,relaxation and joy.
So I am making it my practice to do a little bit of sacred tuning into the wisdom of gratitude, giving thanks for each and every event. I am turning around the stressful thoughts and coming present to the perfection of each moment. I still find Italian drivers a little bit stressful, I still fluctuate between finding the heat unbearable and struggling with the rain (in August in Italy? ) and I still worry about what will happen in the future when we get home to pack up the house as we embark on our “gap year”.
When actually it’s a holiday. A holiday every day.
