Some weeks ago, a friend and I, were talking on the phone, comparing our days, and all that we had on our plate that particular day. She had food shopping to do, and house cleaning. I had the same, as well as a few other stops, and had to take along the baby, and my 4 year old, Charlotte. Dragging kids around with you while running errands always up's the level of difficulty of the task at hand. You may or may not accomplish everything you have set out to do, but you must make the attempt. My days are all a variation of the same day. A constant repeat of tasks. Feed the girls breakfast, shower them, get Liv to the bus, provide snacks for Charlotte, nurse the baby, try and guzzle coffee, nurse the baby, take a 3 minute shower that does not include hair removal, nurse the baby, give Charlotte lunch, give the baby lunch, unload the dishwasher, re-load the dishwasher, try and tidy up, and "clean" the house quickly, decide what errand I am tackling first, and if that includes food shopping, (which it does, EVERYDAY) decide on dinner and make a list, nurse the baby, in between all of this, I have forgotten to throw in there, changing diapers, and then I proceed to get us out the door, which is exhausting in itself. The errands are usually not fun. They need to be done at precisely the right time. The baby has to be well fed, and nursed, so she will sleep, and Charlotte has also needed her fill of meals and snacks, and just the right amount of liquids, so we can insure both a quenched thirst, and avoid not having to visit too many public bathrooms during these errands, which really upsets the momentum of the day.
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.
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.
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