Hosan

I'm pretty annoyingly goal-oriented when it comes to weekends, to the point where Brian and I actually have a family meeting on Friday nights to decide what tasks we want to get to during the next two days.  There's just so much to be done if I'm going to feel like a worthwhile human being:  I want to spend quality time together as a family, exercise, maybe squeeze in a few hours of writing, because after all Brian is home to watch the kids.  On top of that, I think we ought to get much more done than we usually do when it comes to household and yard chores.  Oh, and if the kids don't get outside and play, I start to feel guilty about Nature Deficit Disorder, so of course they must be marched outdoors at some point.  To make things even more fun on weekends, I often find myself giving Brian the hairy eyeball if I don't think he's acting like a good dad should act (i.e., he's hanging out on the couch with his laptop instead of romping on the floor with the kids).

Yesterday, on Saturday, we did a lot of things I feel we are supposed to do to make for a good weekend:  all four of us walked to the library (outdoor time!  family fun time!) and then to a park to play for a while.  I did yard work and even got in some writing.  And yet I often felt rather joyless and pressured, in part because Cassidy was extremely emotional and needy, which made it hard to stick to my goals in the ways I had hoped to.

As it turned out, I think she was getting sick.  Today she had a low-grade fever and was very low-energy.  After lunch she climbed into my lap and Brian said quietly, "I think she's going to fall asleep."  He suggested I take her up to the comfy chair in my writing room and hold her while she snoozed, since that was the best chance she probably had of getting in a much-needed nap.  He told me he'd bring up the book I'm reading and a cup of tea.  

I held my warm, sweet daughter in my lap and for the first time in I don't know how long, I didn't leap to use a child's nap as an opportunity to go get something done.  I read and drank tea in the middle of the afternoon and listened to the rain and looked down at my girl's beautiful, flushed face.  

After she woke up, she and I went down and found her brother working happily on a Lego scene and her dad on the couch with his computer.  I could have thought about all the things that weren't happening:  the chores not done, the exercise and time outdoors getting neglected, the one-on-one fatherly interaction Brian should have been having with Bridger.  But instead I just felt peace and contentment.  My boys were clearly having the day they wanted to have at that moment, even if it wasn't the day I would have chosen for them.

Later, while Brian read to the kids, I made a Tunisian pepper and potato couscous dish that I hadn't made in years--too many steps, too complicated.  I relished the beauty of the red, yellow, and green pepper simmering in a tomato sauce, relished the smells of garlic and onion.  I wanted to call my sister and a very dear friend of mine whom I often call when I'm having a hard time because I wanted to call for once when I was feeling happy and calm.  I wanted to simply listen to them, to soak up their voices and catch up on their lives without my listening being clouded by my own troubles.

In Zen monasteries, days off from the normal monastic routine are called "hosan."  They're a sort of Zen sabbath, a day of rest.  Today it struck me that I (and maybe my whole family) would benefit from fewer goals on the weekend, fewer agendas, and a whole lot more hosan.