Recently I came across an old blog post that I wrote a couple years ago. I usually enjoy reading old posts about the thoughts that were swimming around in my head in the past. This […]
Recently I came across an old blog post that I wrote a couple years ago. I usually enjoy reading old posts about the thoughts that were swimming around in my head in the past. This particular blog post, however, was about how frantic I felt on a day-to-day basis. And it wasn’t so much like reading a post about a time gone by as it was like reading a post about my life right now. Yup, two years may have gone by and the baby described in that post isn’t the baby any longer—but the frantic feeling is still there.
Just now, for example, a reminder popped up on my computer that Thursday is the day these posts are due. My first thought was: Oh man! That means that I have to get a post written by tomorrow. But then I couldn’t remember if that was right. Is today Wednesday? Or is it Thursday? I honestly could not remember. (The irony of the fact that I was looking at a calendar yet unable to decide what day it was is not lost on me.) So I sat at the table for several minutes, thoughts spinning through my head, as I tried to determine if today was Wednesday or Thursday. Finally I was able to land on the fact that the 4-year-old and 2-year-old had swim lessons last night, and that meant that yesterday was Wednesday. Which meant that today is Thursday.
Great! One mystery solved. But again, OH MAN! Because now this meant that I had to write and submit a blog post. And it was already 2:30 p.m. And my to-do list already had 14 things on it. And those are only the things I was able to remember when I sat down to write the list.
So yeah, I feel frantic 100 percent of the time. I have so many things that need to be done, and yet when I sit down to cross a few items off the list, the list just grows longer as I remember more and more things that I need do. Then the dog needs to be let out, so I get up to do that and remember that the baby had a blowout in the middle of the night, so her sheets need to be changed and washed. Again. Then I pass the kitchen sink that has dishes piled high because the dishwasher needs to be emptied, refilled and run. Then I remember I meant to sit down and do some actual work work (instead of housework, you know), but then I realize that the 6-year-old is going to sleepover camp at the end of next week—so I need to go over the packing list to make sure we have everything on it. Then I discover that all eight pairs of the 6-year-old’s flip flops are somehow missing. That makes me frustrated that the house is such a mess, and I add “organize everything” to my list. I put it way at the bottom, though, because—if we’re being honest—we know it’s never going to happen.
The to-do list catches my eye, and I realize that I did indeed manage to accomplish one item on the list, and I joyfully cross that sucker off. I’d feel a sense of accomplishment if the other 13 items weren’t staring at me in the face. And if the dog hadn’t peed on the floor, the dishes weren’t still in the sink, the laundry was done and anyone could tell me where a single pair of flip flops are. Also, I think the sleeping bags are at the Brown House (which is conveniently located a short 1.5 hour drive away), and obviously a sleeping bag is needed for the 6-year-old’s overnight camping trip (which I panicked about because I thought she was leaving tomorrow, but it turns out she’s leaving next Friday. This Friday. Next Friday. Why are there so many days, anyway?)
All this is my way of saying that I forgot that today was Thursday.