I was supposed to write a short article recently about what I, personally, as a mom, do “just for me,” and I was stuck. I couldn’t think of a single thing.

Which is ridiculous, of course, because I must do some things just for me, right?

I used to get a massage once a month, but stopped late last year when we were faced with a bunch of unexpected household expenses, and suddenly it seemed unjustifiable to spend $75 a month on just myself. I don’t go clothes shopping for fun — even though our youngest is now 19 months old and I’m back to my pre-pregnancy weight, my body hasn’t gotten back into it’s pre-pregnancy shape and probably never will, and that makes for a less-than-thrilling shopping adventure. I don’t take any cool classes or have a regular “girls’ night out” or get my nails done or have spa days in my candle-lit bathroom after the kids go to bed.

So, as I was rubbing my eyes and trying to write about how I spend my “me” time, I realized that, recently, in my daily work-life-career-parenting juggle, the “me” ball seems to have rolled under the couch and gotten lost among the dust bunnies.

I considered writing that vacuuming the family room floor was something I do “just for me” because the fact that it has actual visible debris seems to bother no one else. But that just seemed pitiful, so I didn’t. Instead, I turned off my computer, tucked my cell phone in my bag, and walked away — for the entire weekend.

OK, so, not quite the entire weekend, but for an entire weekend day and half of the day after that. That much non-connectivity is a long stretch for me. I didn’t check my email. I didn’t check my voice mail, neither on my cell phone nor on my office land line. I didn’t obsess over stories not yet researched or written.

Instead, I played with my kids. I baked banana bread for breakfast. I helped my husband put in the garden — and “helped” should totally be in quotes, because my thumbs are not so much green as they are nearly non-existent. Really, I “helped” mainly by staying out of his way and keeping the kids busy and planting six lettuce seedlings in pots on the deck — seedlings that look so much healthier now, a week later, that I’m certain they got replanted when my back was turned.

Sure, it wasn’t a luxurious break by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t take a candle-lit bubble bath. I didn’t pop open a bottle of Champagne or indulge in an elaborate dinner. I didn’t run out and get a new outfit or a manicure or a massage.

But I didn’t vacuum the family room floor, either.