A rush of air
You know how when you let the air out of a balloon you can either do it all controlled like with an EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE or a nice soft putt putt putt or you can just let it go all willy nilly and watch it PFFFBBBBBBBTTTT all over the room in crazy zig zags until it FWAPS down flat on the ground? That’s what blogging after not blogging feels like, and I keep wanting to do a nice controlled EEEEEEEEEE or maybe the soft putt putt but there is way too much air in my balloon and I am too tired to hold it back in a nice even fashion. So PFFFFFFBBBBBTTTT FWAP it is.
Here’s a thing: I have started a new regimen of getting up at the crass ack of dawn every day with the sole purpose of getting out the door by 7 a.m. sharp. I have discovered that if I am able to do this (and I have been successful for almost 8 work days straight, HOLLA) then the whole rest of the day falls into place in a magically delicious, level-up in Tetris way. I am the first one in to the office, and I have a lovely chunk of time all to myself where I can get my head right and just sit in silence as I start preparing to do all the things. It’s my favorite time of the day. That halfish-hour is the catalyst for my being able to wrap things up right at 4 p.m. in the afternoon, too, and when I do so I feel like I put in an honest days’ work, golly gee and darn tootin’. Also, I can get home just before 5 and HERE’S THE KICKER: do a few things before I pick up the kids. This one change alone in the way I’ve been doing things lately has made the biggest impact on the rest of my 24 hours. I come in and put things down in an orderly fashion. I store the milk (you know which milk I’m talking about) in the fridge, I get things ready for dinner, I set the table, I get a snack out for the kids, sometimes I go crazy and change my clothes—and then I drive the .25 mile to go get the rapscallions that will occupy ALL THE MINUTES until I go to bed and even some of the ones after that.
Before I started doing this, I felt nonstop frantic for 24 hours a day. No, scratch that. I felt frantic for 22 hours of the day and then totally lethargic/useless for 2 hours from 10-midnight after which I would finally drag myself to bed, too late to be enough time for good rest before the alarm in the morning. That right there? DUM. Also, DUMB. (See, you start to forget how to spell stuff when you are frantic/useless.) But I also felt really anxious to get to the kids as I drove home every day, not able to justify a few “selfish” minutes at home solo before getting them.
Clearly, this was faulty logic. I am much more grounded now when I pick them up—happier to see them, better prepared to give them what they need of me, more able to be present with them (in addition to being able to feed them a dinner that does not involve a.) sandwiches or b.) cereal). We sit around in the kitchen, doing math, talking about our days, sharing Cheerios, and we really enjoy each other. To use a phrase I have worn slap out in magazine jargon writing land: It’s a win-win. And it all starts from my key hitting the ignition at 7 a.m.
Right on, team. Here’s to more win-wins.