It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times

"I've been checking your blog" she said to me "but you stopped writing."

And not for any reason. Well, time I suppose. And the heat. And being tired. Too tired to write, too uncomfortable to type onehanded as my laptop resides under the bed then on it sporadically.

I joined a gym. So that forces me up, and out, and out early. Then we go - someplace - for the remainder of the morning. Then it's home, for lunch, a snack, and then I spend - could it be an hour? - cleaning up. The snacks, the car, whatever bags I packed for the morning. Swimsuits and sunblock, juice cups and cracker packets. Cell phones and gym shoes, they tumble in then out again. I vow before bed "I'm going to start packing at night - so tomorrow is easier. But each day I climb into bed tired - thinking "I'll read email - I deserve a treat." And the packing never happens.

My father said to me "It's not easily understood - to someone who works - who works outside the home, how someone who is home all day can't return phone calls and is always busy."

Well sure. I suppose. If I were "home all day".
If I were to have a lament, any lament, it would be - it has to be "What am I doing wrong?" How do my days bleed into the next day after day. How is it I'm frantic, barely sleeping at night, marginally putting away things during the day. What pray tell am I doing? And why, for the love of god, does everything take me so long.

Oh I have tons TONS of excuses. "I get up early" "I'm at the gym everyday" "I cook from scratch" The list goes on. And it's true. Crazy true. But is it enjoyable? Is it fun? Who am I doing this for - because there are days when I forget.

So today. Where did I go wrong today?

I got up - on the cusp of 7am, marginal minutes either way. I made coffee, just a cup, moved my car, cooked a high protein breakfast (eggs and cheese, no carbs), watered the lawn, the plants, and recoiled the hose. I checked email, vmail, facebook. I quickie showed and dressed in workpout gear. I gathered Ellie, changed her bum, clothes, gave milk and a waffle, some berries too. I gathered her toys, poured us both drinks, grabbed phone and keys - and we went to the gym. For an 8:30 class. And made it ontime.

From the gym we saw Carol, in the parking lot for a few. Crayons and hugs exchanged. A trip home, a switch to my bathing suit. Repacking the bags. Suits, towels, sunblock for her. Swimmies, a snack. Sunblock for me, extra diapers and clothes. Back in the car to the playdate and pool for an hour. Plus? She was tired and I pushed her. Unhappily so. I haven't enjoyed our Monday playdates for months but I continue to go. I like the people. I dislike the playdate. But we go. Because I think I'm just being a baby. Home we arrive, and out we come. A nap for her, another quick shower for me. Off to wash dishes for over an hour from the dinner "party" the night before. Lunch for me. Get mail, water forgotten plants, go online for childcare search. Fold clothes. Child wakes. Hungry. More food prep, more clean up. Now reading books. Several for almost an hour. A phone call. a recipe idea gathered. two more calls for fresh basil. The neighbor goes for me, and we chat in the driveway. It's all to the potty. Then Daddy walks in. Early. It's dinner, the cleanup, then coloring, a call to Grandma. A tubbie. And now here I sit. Tired. From groundhog day. Hating food, food prep, the time it takes to run this house. For nothing gained but sleeping and eating.

But I don't mind. Per se. Because this is my job, and this is my life. And within the routine are moments or perfect achievement. Not that it "makes it all worth it" but moreso how do you have more moments and less wheel spinning.

Try harder? Maybe.
I think there's a passage somewhere that says the myth in America is that if you try hard enough you'll eventually succeed. Tell that to the man flapping his arms off the roof. Hey good luck there Icarus.

But I'm off on a tangent and certainly not the one I intended to segue to. The point is, in terms of priorities, I'm still sifting. Shifting. Sorting.

And I haven't been able to make everything number one.
Yet it hasn't stopped me from trying.

That's ok though, right? Because insanity was long overdue for redefining.