or “Mother,” Part II
It shouldn’t be so hard. Really, on paper, it looks for all the world like it makes sense. Which isn’t to say that I’ve actually written it down. I haven’t actually recorded on paper my Plan For The Day. But I do have a Plan. I have a Plan that should allow for the necessaries to fit into my day before it’s time for the Afternoon Crazies to set in.
Here’s how it’s supposed to work.
5:45– awake and time for reading my Bible and prayer
6:30– remind the kids to get up, make breakfast, finish putting lunches together
7:20– take kids to school or- as was the case today- wave good-bye as husband takes kids to school
8:00– (having made bed, changed clothes, started laundry, perhaps) take dog for run
9:00– stretch, drink water, shower
9:30– breakfast
10:00– check email, check calendar, make necessary phone calls for appointments, schedules, etc.
11:00 until it’s time for the Afternoon Crazies–> WRITE
Sounds good, doesn’t it? I’m clearly not “wasting time” on housework here. Clearly not getting distracted by myriad household projects that I would Absolutely Love To Do because now, for the first time in six years, I have time to do them. Something like, say, sand and paint that beautiful chair that belonged to my great-grandfather, the one that’s parked right next to my desk in the dining room, the one that has the can of paint Already Purchased and Waiting For Me, sitting right there On The Chair.
No. I’m focused. I’m writing. Because that’s my job now.
Except that it’s also (and foremost) my job to be my children’s mother. And I am telling you that I pretty much stuck to this schedule this morning, and now it’s 1:02 p.m., and I Only Just Now finished with the email and calendar stuff, because our lives are That Busy.
Not bragging. Not complaining. Just saying.
Writing now….
What then shall I do this morning? How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days.— Annie Dillard (are we surprised?), The Writing Life
