Well, we're in day four of school. Day. Four. As I type this looking at my clock, that would indicate I just finished my eleventh "free" hour.
Any time I run into someone who knows me, they seem to feel obligated to ask me what I'm doing with All My Free Time.
What I thought I would be doing with All My Free Time:
Systematically cleaning and organizing every room of the house without people watching in case they need to rescue a treasure from the donation pile.
Preemptively starting supper so as to not have the rush crush from 4-6.
Blogging.
Working at the greenhouse
Helping out with school parties.
Starting a fundraising auction for my new nieces.
Finally putting all those photos from the last 12 years into scrapbooks.
Writing the book that has been festering for months, years maybe.
Well, for the last twenty-six hours I've been fighting off a sense of pervasive panic and despair, thanks for asking.
You know what I do with my three "free" hours a day? I play catch-up on all the things I didn't get accomplished in the preceding twenty-one. I make mental lists of what things most need to be done so as to have the fewest people complaining to me at bedtime for whatever thing wasn't done.
Is my laundry caught up? Mostly.
Are my dishes done? Finally.
Is my sink clean? sorta.
Is any room in any part of the house even remotely organized, much less clean? NO.
Is supper in the crock pot? Yes.
Will anyone eat it? Doubtful.
Yes, I have blogged. This post took 12 minutes.
Haven't been to the greenhouse.
I took one look at those party sign-ups last night and nearly burst into tears.
Haven't started an auction.
Scrapbooking? *hysterical laughter*
And that book? Ask me when I'm fifty.
I've gained three pounds since the kids started school. You'd think I'd have time to walk. No. And I'm shoving chocolate chip cookies in my face like they are my lifeline.
I'm suffocating under a deluge of unmet expectations. Mine. Brent's. The kids. And that phantom woman who I dread showing up at my house and seeing what it looks like when there is a stay-at-home wife whose children are all off at school
After all, I have All This Free Time so the house should be spotless, the scrapbooks predominantly displayed, while I'm off volunteering somewhere and making money with my side business.
Any time I run into someone who knows me, they seem to feel obligated to ask me what I'm doing with All My Free Time.
What I thought I would be doing with All My Free Time:
Systematically cleaning and organizing every room of the house without people watching in case they need to rescue a treasure from the donation pile.
Preemptively starting supper so as to not have the rush crush from 4-6.
Blogging.
Working at the greenhouse
Helping out with school parties.
Starting a fundraising auction for my new nieces.
Finally putting all those photos from the last 12 years into scrapbooks.
Writing the book that has been festering for months, years maybe.
Well, for the last twenty-six hours I've been fighting off a sense of pervasive panic and despair, thanks for asking.
You know what I do with my three "free" hours a day? I play catch-up on all the things I didn't get accomplished in the preceding twenty-one. I make mental lists of what things most need to be done so as to have the fewest people complaining to me at bedtime for whatever thing wasn't done.
Is my laundry caught up? Mostly.
Are my dishes done? Finally.
Is my sink clean? sorta.
Is any room in any part of the house even remotely organized, much less clean? NO.
Is supper in the crock pot? Yes.
Will anyone eat it? Doubtful.
Yes, I have blogged. This post took 12 minutes.
Haven't been to the greenhouse.
I took one look at those party sign-ups last night and nearly burst into tears.
Haven't started an auction.
Scrapbooking? *hysterical laughter*
And that book? Ask me when I'm fifty.
I've gained three pounds since the kids started school. You'd think I'd have time to walk. No. And I'm shoving chocolate chip cookies in my face like they are my lifeline.
I'm suffocating under a deluge of unmet expectations. Mine. Brent's. The kids. And that phantom woman who I dread showing up at my house and seeing what it looks like when there is a stay-at-home wife whose children are all off at school
After all, I have All This Free Time so the house should be spotless, the scrapbooks predominantly displayed, while I'm off volunteering somewhere and making money with my side business.
2 comments:
Your blog is so good at putting to words some thoughts that don't even have the time to materialize into words. This one was so therapeutic to me.
Recently, Jake and i had the following conversation:
Me, whining: "Why do i bother? Nothing i do lasts the afternoon, nothing makes a difference, and the worst part of it is, no one in this house would care, much less mind, if i gave in to the temptation and stopped, except me!"
Jake: "God sees, He cares. God."
Me: "So?!!?" (Apparently with an expression that indicated the end of the conversation)
Thank you again, Jamie. :)
Oh my word. At church on Sunday I mentioned to a friend that I kind of regretted going back to work with the boys in school. "What would you do all day?" she asked. Um, what WOULDN'T I do?!
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