I used to think that at some early adult point in my life, my ability to grasp both sides of my plate, firmly, would develop.
In my view of the future world, homemade eggplant parmagiana would be a weeknight dinner, my dishes would be washed and put away, the beds would be made (without any protruding sheet corners), my children would have a bed time routine that included cuddling and stories and nightlights, and my writing career would develop late into blissful nights of inspired words like “feathering.”
The to-do lists of my mind are horribly cluttered and put me in a frenzy. The immense number of things that have to be done for living in this moment makes future moments feel heavy.
Spending an hour cleaning reminds me that there is dust under the couches, books in disarray, and a bathroom mirror to wipe. Grading 4 essays an hour calculates out to more hours than I have in a weekend. Knowing I only have a few minutes until Mozely wakes up from his nap before he is hanging on my legs, crying, makes me want to avoid dinner altogether. I am constantly counting my moments, until my eyelids collapse while I try to get one post written or even one paragraph. Then I count the number of hours I have until I have to wake up and start it again.
I don’t think I’ll ever be caught up. I’m running the treadmill and it’s just about to trip me up.
I have two goals for 32. And maybe I’ll feel like I’m moving forward instead of in the same place.
*I will exercise, every day, except Sunday.
*I will begin writing. Something.
When I hang out with people with clean houses, calm kids, and dinners on tables, I think,
When was I supposed to learn how to do this? These people have sewing projects, and family game nights, and yoga in the mornings. They have Halloween decorations up and manicures and dress well. They also have kitchen towels without stains that actually add a decorative touch to the place. They return their library books back on time. They go to dance class, soccer games, and even buy the shoes their kids need for these. Their kids wear actual pajamas instead of just randomly assorted stained cotton clothing. I am seriously impressed with these people.
I’m not sure I need all of that. But maybe I need a maid.