Freedom

The carpet is vacuumed.

The kitchen has been mopped and scrubbed.

The babies have gotten their third round of shots (after shots and the vacuum in one day, they're not too thrilled with me.)

The bathrooms are clean, the laundry is done. Even the blankets the babies had accidents on have been washed.

And the most miraculous thing of all, I was able to go to the grocery store at 8:40 a.m. in the morning after the gym. On a Friday. With nobody there but old ladies and socialites buying for the Fiesta parties. (Fiesta is a two week celebration in San Antonio with parties all over the city and dozens of parades.)

I've got bread baking in the machine, and I've got the greatest gift of all.

Freedom.

Freedom to work on my book stuff and finally send those query letters out.

Freedom to write as many stories as I please.

Freedom to finish my mother's scrapbook and my own.

Freedom to watch a movie, or even two!

Freedom to go on a walk and visit the goats or go to the zoo.

I can go anywhere and do anything. I have no appointments, no dismal co-workers griping and no evil boss snarling behind me.

I could eat ice cream at two in the afternoon. I could stay up until two in the morning.

Well, I couldn't stay up until two in the morning. I get up at six even on weekends. But I could pretend to.

I could twirl in the grass and grill hamburgers out back. I could cook all sorts of cinnamon rolls and cookies and goodies I've always wanted to. Then I could go round up a bunch of neighborhood kids to eat them so I could fit through doorways.

And sure, on Monday I'll have to edit a bunch of stories, decorate for a co-worker's farewell party and bake a cake for said party while wrangling babies and dinner.

But for now, I've got freedom.

Ben and the babies have chosen to celebrate their day off in a different way.

It's amazing how a day off can restore your spirits.