I truly thought that when Spawnling went to preschool, I would have a lot more time on my hands to get things accomplished.
Most days, the house is just as messy as it was before, the recorded shows on my DVR sit aging and neglected, the blog is just as dusty. Laundry doesn't get done any faster, nor does the to-do list get smaller. I've quickly filled up those "down time" days with work, errands and appointments. I'm thinking the old adage, "when you make more, you spend more" could be easily morphed into: "When you have more time, you fill it."
Take today, for example. I had six hours to myself from four-year-old drop-off to pick-up. In that time, I did the following:
- 30 minutes making breakfast, cleaning up breakfast and Facebooking like a loser
- 2 hours of work
- 1 hour of Halloween shopping (I'm bringing "last minute shopping" back)
- 1 hour dental appointment
- 30 minutes visiting The Madre and a couple of stray siblings
- 1 total hour driving to and from those locations and trying to figure out why our insurance plan didn't cover half of my last dental visit (we figured it out - they only allow one "new patient exam" per person per lifetime. Yes, lifetime. So your dentist better not retire/die, and you had better not move, because apparently a new dentist isn't eligible to look at your mouth for the first time ever again.)
And there you have it: a complete six hours with thirty of it dedicated to my enjoyment. Incidentally, the time minutes I spent at my parents' house involved calming down the dog who was having an absolute panic attack over my arrival, chugging back a coffee as quickly as I could without permanently scalding my esophagus, being handed a lovely pair of boots that are now mine-mine-all-mine-!, and justifying why I have yet to learn to drive stick shift even though my husband has had three different standard vehicles in the last 9 years (basically I'm just lazy, but they don't have to know that).
Fun, but not exactly relaxing.
Don't get me wrong: I love having those two childless days every week. I look forward to them like someone under the age of wrinkling might look forward to their birthday, except I get the pleasure of this happening about twice per week. I enjoy making appointments on Mondays or Wednesdays and knowing I don't have to find a babysitter as long as nobody starts puking the night before. I wake up before it's light out, and drag myself out of bed with the promise of an approaching drive-thru window and a smiling person handing me a coffee to start my day.
My day. Mine. All mine. I structure it, manage it, fill it with all those to-dos. Some days, I work uninterrupted, sit in the quiet with a dog sleeping at my feet, usually only getting up to grab a bite to eat or to answer the phone. It's blissful.
But today wasn't one of those days. It was harried, busy, frantic, tiring. To top it all off, Geekster had to work late - thankfully a rarity - and I flew solo for six hours after my six hours of not-so-quiet time. Plus, having been so busy the last few days, I haven't done as much work on an important contract as I should have, so I asked the gremlins to fend for themselves as much as possible until dinner time. I figured I could get a good ninety minutes or so of extra work done. They'd understand, right?
Thirty broken minutes over the span of two hours later, I had finally lost my cool. I had done the mommy huddle, where I explained why this is so important, and cheered them on as capable, responsible young men who can make their own popcorn, pour their own juice, solve their own arguments. I had bent a couple of times, helped them make the popcorn they can make on their own, fetched the clean cups out of the dishwasher they could have acquired themselves, broke up arguments-- okay, they can't usually solve those on their own. Who am I kidding?
When I lost my cool, I used the evil "C" word. I know, I know, it was inappropriate and wrong, but I said it. You could see the shock and panic on their faces as what I had just spewed forth from my angry, depleted lips registered in their minds.
"Do you want a Christmas this year?" I bellowed from the office. All whining ceased instantly. "Because Mommy's work is paying for your presents. All of them!"
It was only half a beat, but I hope it wasn't half a beat too long. As quickly as I could, I tacked on "Except for Santa's presents, of course. But Santa isn't going to make up for what I can't get you because you're asking me to press buttons on a microwave instead of editing a file, ok? Got it?!" I stopped short of saying that Santa's workshop is feeling the recession, too, and that more than a few elves had been let go, and some of the reindeer had been slaughtered for cheeseburgers.
The nodded hastily and maturely went about their business.
For two minutes.
And then I gave up, until at last they had food in their bellies and iCarly was on. I was sad not to watch iCarly (admittedly one of my favourite kids shows), but happy I could get some more of this contract done.
While I love being able to work from home and make some money to help out Mr. Claus' struggling Elven Sweat Shop and Meat Packaging Plant, it's going to take a bit more training with the Gremlins Three - or at least the youngest two - to work out some of the bugs.
Mrs. Claus undoubtedly pulls her weight around the homestead, making sure the budget is adhered to, toy making is done to today's safety standards (no lead paint), and tasks are completed on time. On top of that, she likely fries up some reinburgers for Santa and herself every night.
As far as I know, the Claus' are childless. Somehow, I don't think it's because Santa doesn't ho-ho-ho it up every now and then.
Today's lesson: Time management with children is an oxymoron.
Most days, the house is just as messy as it was before, the recorded shows on my DVR sit aging and neglected, the blog is just as dusty. Laundry doesn't get done any faster, nor does the to-do list get smaller. I've quickly filled up those "down time" days with work, errands and appointments. I'm thinking the old adage, "when you make more, you spend more" could be easily morphed into: "When you have more time, you fill it."
Take today, for example. I had six hours to myself from four-year-old drop-off to pick-up. In that time, I did the following:
- 30 minutes making breakfast, cleaning up breakfast and Facebooking like a loser
- 2 hours of work
- 1 hour of Halloween shopping (I'm bringing "last minute shopping" back)
- 1 hour dental appointment
- 30 minutes visiting The Madre and a couple of stray siblings
- 1 total hour driving to and from those locations and trying to figure out why our insurance plan didn't cover half of my last dental visit (we figured it out - they only allow one "new patient exam" per person per lifetime. Yes, lifetime. So your dentist better not retire/die, and you had better not move, because apparently a new dentist isn't eligible to look at your mouth for the first time ever again.)
And there you have it: a complete six hours with thirty of it dedicated to my enjoyment. Incidentally, the time minutes I spent at my parents' house involved calming down the dog who was having an absolute panic attack over my arrival, chugging back a coffee as quickly as I could without permanently scalding my esophagus, being handed a lovely pair of boots that are now mine-mine-all-mine-!, and justifying why I have yet to learn to drive stick shift even though my husband has had three different standard vehicles in the last 9 years (basically I'm just lazy, but they don't have to know that).
Fun, but not exactly relaxing.
Don't get me wrong: I love having those two childless days every week. I look forward to them like someone under the age of wrinkling might look forward to their birthday, except I get the pleasure of this happening about twice per week. I enjoy making appointments on Mondays or Wednesdays and knowing I don't have to find a babysitter as long as nobody starts puking the night before. I wake up before it's light out, and drag myself out of bed with the promise of an approaching drive-thru window and a smiling person handing me a coffee to start my day.
My day. Mine. All mine. I structure it, manage it, fill it with all those to-dos. Some days, I work uninterrupted, sit in the quiet with a dog sleeping at my feet, usually only getting up to grab a bite to eat or to answer the phone. It's blissful.
But today wasn't one of those days. It was harried, busy, frantic, tiring. To top it all off, Geekster had to work late - thankfully a rarity - and I flew solo for six hours after my six hours of not-so-quiet time. Plus, having been so busy the last few days, I haven't done as much work on an important contract as I should have, so I asked the gremlins to fend for themselves as much as possible until dinner time. I figured I could get a good ninety minutes or so of extra work done. They'd understand, right?
Thirty broken minutes over the span of two hours later, I had finally lost my cool. I had done the mommy huddle, where I explained why this is so important, and cheered them on as capable, responsible young men who can make their own popcorn, pour their own juice, solve their own arguments. I had bent a couple of times, helped them make the popcorn they can make on their own, fetched the clean cups out of the dishwasher they could have acquired themselves, broke up arguments-- okay, they can't usually solve those on their own. Who am I kidding?
When I lost my cool, I used the evil "C" word. I know, I know, it was inappropriate and wrong, but I said it. You could see the shock and panic on their faces as what I had just spewed forth from my angry, depleted lips registered in their minds.
"Do you want a Christmas this year?" I bellowed from the office. All whining ceased instantly. "Because Mommy's work is paying for your presents. All of them!"
It was only half a beat, but I hope it wasn't half a beat too long. As quickly as I could, I tacked on "Except for Santa's presents, of course. But Santa isn't going to make up for what I can't get you because you're asking me to press buttons on a microwave instead of editing a file, ok? Got it?!" I stopped short of saying that Santa's workshop is feeling the recession, too, and that more than a few elves had been let go, and some of the reindeer had been slaughtered for cheeseburgers.
The nodded hastily and maturely went about their business.
For two minutes.
And then I gave up, until at last they had food in their bellies and iCarly was on. I was sad not to watch iCarly (admittedly one of my favourite kids shows), but happy I could get some more of this contract done.
While I love being able to work from home and make some money to help out Mr. Claus' struggling Elven Sweat Shop and Meat Packaging Plant, it's going to take a bit more training with the Gremlins Three - or at least the youngest two - to work out some of the bugs.
Mrs. Claus undoubtedly pulls her weight around the homestead, making sure the budget is adhered to, toy making is done to today's safety standards (no lead paint), and tasks are completed on time. On top of that, she likely fries up some reinburgers for Santa and herself every night.
As far as I know, the Claus' are childless. Somehow, I don't think it's because Santa doesn't ho-ho-ho it up every now and then.
Today's lesson: Time management with children is an oxymoron.