Guilty pleasures

This afternoon, while my four year old was at school and my so-nearly-two-i-can-taste-it year old was napping, I watched an episode of One Tree Hill.

Yuppers, I watched a teen soap from 10 years ago.

For forty five minutes in the middle of the afternoon, I accomplished nothing.  Twitchily.

I should have been cleaning the bathrooms. I should have been emptying the dishwasher. I should have been planning activities for my kids to get us through to bedtime. I should have been reading, writing, exercising. I should have been obsessively making myself into a better parent/person.

I didn't.

I don't know anymore. It felt good to not be responsible. And also dumb? Frivolous? Silly? Embarrassing?

Is this how self care is supposed to be? Not the desperate drive to fix oneself but the simple, guilty pleasures? Do other people already know this? Is this how one has fun?

Am I thinking too much?

Well, One Tree Hill is likely to cure that last one.

My tiny teacher

I am in the kitchen, reheating soup from the freezer and handing the toddler quartered grape tomatoes in her high chair to keep her from screaming.

BG comes in, holding the marble notebook I gave her.

"Mommy,  can I write in my journal?"

Pause. "Yes! Yes, of course. " I hand her a pen.

"I haven't written in a while."

"I ... Me neither."

"I just have to work in my poetry. I'm going to be a famous writer, so I do my very best each day."

"That's wonderful honey. Keep working hard."

OKAY TINY PREACHY MIRROR, I HEAR YOU.