The day rushes onward, in a constant forward motion. The goal: get it all done, as quickly, and effeciently as possible, taking into account, the quickest routes, as not to use too much gasoline, as that is another stress of mine. I probably have such an increased heart rate during this time of the day. I have my eye on the prize. Make it to pick Liv up from school, and get home, and now begin the evening portion, or the last leg, if you will, of this daily race. The rest of the day is a blur. Dinner preperation, loud screaming kids, LOUD, SCREAMING BABY. Trying to get dinner on the table, because my girls might drop dead right before my eyes, on the slate kitchen floor, due to lack of food. I like to compare this dinner time preperation to cooking with a fire alarm sounding. I love to cook, but dinner during the week, while David is still at work, is not a joy to prepare. It is a necessary evil that needs to be done as quickly as possible, taking into consideration the food pyramid and my kid's health while doing so. Sometimes, I wish we were more like snakes, and just needed to eat every few months, instead of the 3+ meals a day that I must chef up. Did I mention that the baby pooped, and needed to be nursed, and Charlotte pooped and required assistance wiping her butt, while all of this was going on?
Dinner is served, the nightly glass of milk spill takes place, (my husband's inappropriate anger rears it's ugly head, usually about this time) and then there is clean up. David usually takes care of this, because he knows how to "properly load the dishwasher". Thank god I have him. I don't know how I got along all these years without him, considering all of the filthy dishes I have apparantly eaten off of. (That would be sarcasm, as I don't believe I have introduced that side of myself yet.)
Girls are put in P.J.'s and teeth are brushed. Beds are readied to get into, the last bit of mind numbing Disney Channel is viewed, baby is nursed, and then finally, the moment we have been racing for the entire day. The end to it. Girls are put to bed, and baby continues nursing, and everyone is full, and asleep. Then, David and I go to bed. That's it. The day is done. The forward momentum finally comes to a rest. And we will rise in the morning, and do this again. We are constantly in a rush to get it all done, only to do it again. Everyday. Every single day.
When I was living in Manhattan, it was much the same. The day was far more hedonistic albeit, and self indulgent. The day began with a 30 minute long shower, and watching the news, picking something fabulous out of my gorgeous wardrobe to adorn my beautiful body, complete with matching bra and panties, and then extensive grooming, and careful makeup application, finished off with the scent I felt appropriate for that particular day. First Camel Light of the day, a stop at my favorite little Milanese style espresso bar for my morning cappucinno, and off to my job on Madison Avenue, where I looked at swatches and patterns all day. Examined samples, trecked down to the garment district to yell at the Korean sewers, and then have a delicious lunch, that usually included a fifteen dollar panini, and multiple cigarettes, and a lipstick re-application. The momentum, or prize of my day, was all directed toward what lovely little place I would be meeting friends for drinks at, and what bistro we would be dining in. That was my day. Throw in a few shopping trips, and multiple mani and pedi's, and that is how I rolled.
I mention all of this, because even then, in my delectably selfish twenties, I was always waiting. Waiting for the next part of my life to start. Waiting for my single days to end. Waiting to meet Mr. Right. Waiting to be proposed to. Waiting for the wedding. After I reached those milestones, then there was more waiting. Waiting for the baby. Waiting for the house to come. Waiting to move. Waiting for the better job. Waiting for the next baby. Waiting for more money. Waiting for the bills to somehow pay themselves. Waiting for my husband and I to get along. Waiting for his baggage to go away. Waiting for unemployment to end. Waiting for yet again, more money. Waiting for it to be five o'closk, or even four, so I could have a glass of wine. Waiting for a bigger house, or at least a cleaner one. Each and every day, I am waiting for it to be over and begin another. Waiting for a better tomorrow.
Did I enjoy all those fabulous, wonderful years in NYC? Am I enjoying these precious few years with my very young children now? When it all ends, will I actually be able to say, that was fun, I am sorry that I rushed it all, and always wanted more. What am I waiting for? Why am I waiting? Life is happening all around me.