On Running Oneself Ragged

Twenty-four hours ... one thousand four hundred forty minutes ... eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds. That's all any of us has in a day. What we do in that time is up to us (well, to an extent). Cram in as much as you like, use a shoehorn if necessary; just make sure that what you do is done well and with your whole heart. Otherwise, what's the point?

Lately I've been stacking up commitments left, right, and sideways. For instance, son Kieran is now a Tiger Cub Scout ... which requires an "adult partner" ... which is, of course, me. (Oh, and I'm one of the den leaders, too.)


Daughter Kendall sooooo enjoys her ballet classes! She's quite the little performer, and she seeks to "make an impact" on people around her whether she's onstage or off. (I'm not totally convinced that she doesn't go through it all just for the flowers, though!)


And so where's the "me" time, you ask? Well, let's think that one through. I have the Realtor thing going on, which requires that I physically go and show houses, write contracts, facilitate inspections, attend closings, and such like that. I do the mortgage goddess dance too, in which a lot can be accomplished by phone, but I must meet up with clients at least twice in most cases (that's once to sign application documents and once at closing). On Mondays we have Kendall's ballet right after school and Cub Scouts of an evening, with supper shoved down somewhere in between. Weekdays during normal business hours, I'm expected to answer the phones and get loans done; weekdays after hours and weekends I'm supposed to be showing properties or holding open houses or something of that nature. Add in the June Cleaver stuff (cooking, cleaning, and laundry - not that I do any of those things with any sort of regularity), and I have to schedule things like eating and sleeping. (Thank goodness I can breathe while doing other stuff!)

Yes, I am busy beyond belief most of the time. Yes, I collapse every night and mentally chastise myself for things that I meant to do/should have done during that day but didn't. Yes, I fret about not exercising enough and not cooking for my family and not doing so many "typical mommy" things. It's all for the greater good, though (thanks, Grindelwald), or at least that's the line I use to pacify myself about it. I guess I'm trapped in a "if I don't do it, who will?" mentality. (I don't really know where it came from, but origin is less important than facility at this point.)

I am less concerned with having time for myself (usually) than I am about making sure that my children have what they need, looking after my clients, and just generally taking care of the world in general. One day (too soon, I hear), the children will be grown and gone with families of their own, and I'll get to retire (totally preferable to the "die with your boots on" scenario that I'm more likely to wind up with). I'll have "me time" then, won't I?

Hmm. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Are there guarantees that I'll wake up in the morning, come back in one piece from that trip to the grocery store, survive the walk out to the mailbox?

Guess I'll go book a spa day!