The Intentional Weekend

I’ve come to the conclusion that I need space for myself to be intentional about things that matter to me.

Currently, my life has to be completely structured. I stay at home with my son, for now, so I am in charge of all things home and family. I am also a neurotic perfectionist. (Yay) So my house needs to be clean for me to be able to use it as a creative space. Things have to be just so, so that I can be free to engage in the part of me that wants live and breathe in this world, in this moment. It’s difficult when Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are Vacuuming days, each person has a laundry day (Tuesdays are for me), I clean bathrooms on Wednesdays, wipe fingerprints off of windows on Tuesdays, Mop on Thursdays, Take out trash on Fridays and— and for the love of God will people put their dirty dishes in the goddam dishwasher?! Lets not forget about all the knitting, writing, networking on social media, going to the gym, going to the park, going to the library, getting groceries, making dinner and everything else I do to make sure that my kid is well read and fed. It’s easy to feel like most of my time is just chasing a mess, but this structure allows me to get things done and have time in the afternoon to play with my kid and pursue things that make me, me. When I write it all out it makes me feel like I actually do a lot around here… too bad it doesn’t come with a salary. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I need space for myself to be intentional about things that matter to me. I want time to read again, I want to have the freedom to sit in a coffee shop and just dig into a book without wondering if my son is being too loud or if he is well occupied. It’s important to me because if I don’t make this a thing now it might never happen, thanks to adding a second child to the already crazy mix that I feel like I have. I need time to grow back some brain cells. (No really) In this effort, I am starting a weekend intention blog post. If you’re feeling like me, a little frayed and stressed, I encourage you to read along and find something that helps you be more you. As an introvert, I find this is easier for me if I do this on my own, but you might like to go out with friends. Do whatever it is that gives you an hour or two to be fully you again. 

This weekend, I am hoping to finish, “When Women Were Birds” by Terry Tempest Williams. It’s an incredible memoir about finding your voice within your family, within your community and especially within yourself. I recently lost my mother, and have been going through that sort of, “What is it about me that is like her?” feelings and thoughts. I am not sure we ever really grow out of those thoughts though, because now that I think back, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. What I have found in this book is somewhat of a kindred spirit for me. I’ve been on the search for a mentor figure in my life. So when I read this, I knew that hers was the voice that I had been looking for to guide me into my own voice of poetry and activism. Her voice is the mother that I wish I had growing up, but it got cut out by disease and decay. She speaks beautifully about her mother and the relationship that they had, I can only hope to be a mother like that. 

I want us to think of our literary mothers in honor of Mother’s Day. I know that the holiday can be hard for some, so I am not asking for an intention to your birth mother (unless that’s something you want to do– It’s probably already on the schedule anyway). How can we honor the literary women (Authors or characters) that have had a profound impact on our lives and identities? How can we honor them and honor true selves? For me, I hope to have an afternoon outside, a small hike, a blanket and my book, listening to the birds sing. 

Published by BrandieKnits

I am a reader of many beautiful things, a fantastic knitter and a lover of wine. I love writing stories. I am a daydreamer and very neurotic, but my husband married me anyway. Bless that man. Really, I am just a girl who finally figured out what she wants in life.

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