Something pretty darn exciting happened to me last week (details to come soon) that wound up heaping a load of unexpected (but highly welcomed) work on my plate. Add in some long hours at the office (did I mention I started a new job last month?) with a few mandatory night and weekend work events, and well, this happened:
I realize you may have a few questions for me, like:
- How many families are living on my property and why do I feed them so many 9-course meals?
- When will my episode of Hoarders be airing?
- Exactly how many gallons of coffee am I drinking each day?
- Where was that good-for-nothing husband Drew – couldn’t he have pitched in?
In fairness to Drew, we just went through a household re-org, and the new roles and responsibilities are as follows:
I wouldn’t want to rock the org chart boat, and I like to reserve my right to a Trash Pile Standoff when his duties get away from him.
Now, could I have found an extra 30 minutes somewhere to blow through that stack of dishes? Absolutely. I could have chosen not to:
- Have a Thanksgiving menu planning call with my Aunt
- Show up to work on time
- Answer blog comments or write this post
- Respond to emails from friends
Or any other number of activities. But in walking past that moldy pile at the sink this morning, it occurred to me that if I had a baby, it wouldn’t just be 30 minutes I’d have to unearth from my regular schedule. It would be THREE OR FOUR HOURS of picking up kids from school, making them dinner, helping with homework, executing bath time rituals, reading aloud from books about farm animals who can make soufflés, darning socks, whipping up cupcakes for the bake sale, buying soccer cleats, and whatever else it is that working parents have to squeeze in before they lay down for the night.
Where do they find the time?! I suppose it’s a combination of things, depending on what’s most important to you. Cleaning would probably be out the window altogether, and I could maybe live with that. But that would buy me 20 or 30 minutes a day. Where would the other 3 hours come from? I suppose I could stop blow-drying my hair, brushing my teeth (seems to a popular thing to drop if the new mom Facebook posts I see are any indication), playing with the cats, writing, reading, running, watching my soap, getting seven hours of sleep, keeping up with friends and family, having nice long post-work chats with Drew, sending Christmas cards, etc., etc. But how sane would I be? And WHO would I be (other than “Mom”) if I gave up so many of the things that currently mean something to me, or keep me a happy, healthy, relaxed person?
Some of you may be disgusted – nay, terrified – at the state of my kitchen. And I might be too if I didn’t know this was just a transitory pile-up on a particularly nutty week. It’s the thought of making this temporarily-busy state permanent-times-ten that freaks me out more than even the mold growing on the last Tuesday’s bowl of yogurt and blackberry remains.
Want to read more? Visit my blog at: www.maybebabymaybenot.com
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