Seriously, I am the laziest women in the world.
That is so not true, but that's how I feel. Today, for the second day in a row, we didn't go on a marathon walk, out for a big adventure or on a series of errands, each more thrilling than the next. Instead, we stayed inside.
The guilt this is causing me is inexplicable. It's not like we sat around playing on the computer and watching soap operas (OK, we did a little of that), but I vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, got dinner prepped and did laundry. And nobody cares what I do. The girls don't care. Steve doesn't care. The girl from the gym, the guy down the street, the gas station clerk, the minivan driving moms, the list goes on. They don't care.
So why do I?
It's a little secret I have. It's actually easier to be out than to be at home. There's always stuff do get done at home. The girls need more entertainment. I have things to do there.
Outside, on walks or at the park, the only thing to do is walk.
Just a bit ago, Carolyn took a toy from Penny that I made her give back (it's part of the fun "mine" stage) and Carolyn, out of frustration, tried to gouge out Penny's eyes.
This would never have happened out. If Penny had been rendered blind, it would have been my fault for staying inside today.
If that isn't the quintessential Catholic guilt, I'm not sure what it.