We had the slowest of slow weekends. We stayed home, and only left the house to walk the dog and play on a swing. We didn't drive anywhere, we didn't buy anything, we used what we had at home and it was so, so good. We had millet porridge for breakfast, ate our banana and date loaf that we baked for morning and afternoon teas, had dinners of homemade soup and risotto with homemade stock. We harvested the first of the potatoes and a bunch of skinny capsicums. The kiddo did much play outside, and much play inside, and I did a heap of crochet work on the blanket I'm making for him. So much that I feel like I'm back in the swing of needing to keep my hands making little squares all the time. I sat outside with my crochet and a cup of rosehip tea, on the chairs I look at so longingly, yet so rarely actually sit in.
It was the best weekend. I needed it, my kiddo needed it, my bank account thanked me for it and my car has had three days of not being touched.
It really is when you stop running around, doing stuff that needs doing, that you realise how little actually needs to be done, and how truly wonderful it is to just be.
