I’m not complaining. I’m really grateful, actually. It just so happens that I clocked something like 80 hours of work last week, and this week does not appear to be relenting. In some kind of sick and sadistic way, I believe I do my best work when I’m asked to juggle fire and swallow swords at the same time. Give me a single project and a reasonable deadline, and I will somehow still find a way to wait until the very last second to open the email. But give me three projects that were due last week with agendas that have not yet been defined, and experts that are time traveling across continents, and I will deliver. Yesterday.
And so it goes. This is what we call a “busy week” around this house. When our kids were younger, there was a certain degree of stress and freak-out associated with Momma’s busy schedule. But in the last few years, we’ve all learned how to roll with it. Minimizing the stress is the key. Lots of work is good. Stress is not.
So, here’s a little glimpse into our lives this evening … our kids get home from school exhausted and fending off colds. It’s what we call a “take-it-easy day,” which means they get to watch a movie on the couch after school. This only happens a couple of times a month, but during “busy week,” it’s child care tactic number one. Nobody’s perfect. So, they watch Nemo. And I have two hours of uninterrupted work.
In between downloads and uploads and conference calls, I find enough time to boil some water for Mac and Cheese. I added vegetables, so that’s a well-rounded meal, right? It was ORGANIC Mac and Cheese. For the love of God.
At some point during the course of the evening, I have the wherewithal to text my husband and inform him that the kids had Mac and Cheese and I had Chinese leftovers, so he should probably stop and pick something up if he’s hungry. Always thinking of my family. That’s what I do.
Now where was I … totally absorbed in a project that is due on Friday and just changed course at 2:00 pm today, I believe … what was that? My daughter comes to a dead stop causing her brother to run over the top of her and knock her flat on the hard wood floor, as they’re chasing each other around the living room at full speed and full shriek. She asks if they’re being too loud, or if they should stop running. “Why?” I ask. “Momma, you always tell us to stop this,” she insists. Doesn’t faze me today, honey. Carry on. Absorbed, I said.
And when I need a break, I just head into the master bedroom and jump on the bed. Because as it turns out, my kids are already there. I’m just joining in their fun. That’s what being an involved parent is all about, is it not?