The big kids are off to school for the day and I have exactly 60 minutes to write this before I take my oldest to the orthodontist. My five-year-old is by me, silly and loud and distracting playing Just Dance 2, and she calls me over and I am sorely tempted because have you played that game?
OK, focus. I need to get this done.
But I hear the first strains of Holiday and relent.
I win by a landslide. She whines that I always win. I want to tell her that I wasn’t even trying because it’s still early and hello—no bra! But I just apologize and come back to the computer…
Focus.
Run away frantically and rescue baby wedged between the exersaucer and the wall. I have an eight month old that thinks he can already walk. He can’t. Right his position: bum back on floor.
Me back to computer.
Decide to put baby down for nap. Run upstairs: diaper, paci, blankie, night-night.
Me: drink of water, sit down, wiggle my mouse, half a blank page staring back at me from Word.
I think…
Hold on, Nutella sandwich for the little girl…
I think…
What do I think? I don’t think. Not big thoughts anyway, just meandering vignettes about life, then or now, someday. I’m remembering how I decided to be an aerobics instructor and got certified through 24-hour Fitness, and I turn to tell my daughter that’s probably why I win at Just Dance 2. She is nonplussed; she stares at me with Nutella on her cheek. SHE IS FIVE!
(I really should just let her win the dumb game.)
Anyway, where was I?
I have a curious habit of not finishing things. Perhaps starting with that foray into pretending to be an aerobics instructor because guess what? It never panned out. I got lazy. Or bored. Or pregnant or something like that.
Is this tendency to be incomplete really me? Or can I blame the children?
I always have a project I hope to work on in my “spare” moments. Right now it is reading my book about Photoshop that I found while cleaning out the book case, and/or sanding and repainting our old desk in a high gloss white with vintage knobs for my daughter’s room.
Ha. I will probably just buy a desk from IKEA and continue my downward spiral into mediocre photography.
Yesterday I needed to finish sorting the old baby clothes to donate to an orphanage in the Ukraine (crazy schemes!) so as to remove all the piles of clothing from my hallway, but the weather was almost nice and the kids begged for vigorous pushes on the swings, pushes their little arms couldn’t manage for one another.
I went.
Two days ago I was making bread and let the blooming yeast sit on the counter so long it actually bloomed ONTO the counter. Of course I didn’t have an hour to devote to bread making when first I started the endeavor, but for some reason making bread seemed easier than running to the store and buying bread.
Hmmm…
And just now… husband walks in and wants to talk. About the day! And time-management! The gall of him!!!
(Discuss, look at the time, panic, stare at computer, aaaand)
I’m back. And now I need to put on a bra to go pick up my daughter from school and taker her to the orthodontist.
Do I set myself up? Is the desire to do anything besides the basics an unreasonable expectation on myself? Should I just give up all hope for fanciful things and fun, selfish projects?
Just finishing one thing from start to finish would be such a pleasurable thing for me at this point in my life. But it rarely happens. So I’m asking… how do you do it? Or if you don’t, what projects are waiting for you in the wings?
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