>Make Haste. Not Waist.

22 May

>Meanwhile, back in April:
Today was one of those days. Come to think of it, ‘those days’ seem lately to stack up like the bills. Every day is now officially one of those days. But today I was in a particular snit. I had decided to take advantage of the now exceedingly rare moment of sunshine to walk Miss 8-i-TUDE to school. Get bean out of the house for the hubby’s con call. And calm my nerves with an extended walk through the neighborhood behind the school after drop off. It sounded so nice after a week of 10+ hour work days. Stress. Anger. Anxiety.

My plan was complicated a bit by the fact that Miss 8-i-TUDE had left her backpack at school the afternoon before after Fitness Club. I knew we needed to leave a little early to search the entire school for the lone purple backpack. (Because you really never know where she may have left it.) So I had been reminding her all morning to please focus. Please get dressed. Please stop getting distracted by the Today Show. Please save her endless list of stories and anecdotes to share on the walk. By the time I finally made it down to get myself dressed, we were already short on time. So when I come back to get us out the door, she’s planted in front of Biggest Loser (on TiVo), the hubby is oblivious on his computer and bean just looks at me. So I cheerfully shout, “Let’s go!” And Miss 8-i-TUDE says, “Just a minute.” And I say, “Nope. Have to go. Now. Remember? The. Back. Pack…?” And this is when she decides to a) cry and protest to having to turn off the telly and b) suddenly remember that it’s field day and that she absolutely must have a water bottle or risk dying from dehydration. And this is when I promptly: Lose. My. Cool. My inner banshee rages forth and spit flies from my mouth. It could have been green goo. It was that bad.

The hubby picks up bean and runs, with a quick beseeching look over his shoulder as he makes haste to the garage. He’s loading bean in the stroller for me when I emerge post-vitriol. He tells me to calm down and I turn him to dust with my eyes. Then I step over his smoldering pile to leave.

Miss 8-i-TUDE is now crying (shocker) and is doing her grunted response thing. That. I. Hate. I’ve started to calm down, but can’t stop myself from reminding her about responsibility (or lack there of), how to take ownership of one’s actions, how to listen, that I have a reason for trying to leave on time. Remember. The. Back. Pack. ??? She thinks this is the appropriate time to repeat over and over, “Stop yelling at me.” And I do mean repeat. And when she’s not repeating her mantra of the moment she’s either lagging way behind or sprinting ahead. Basically anything to stay away from me.

So the whole mile to school this continues. Then the tone changes to denial. “I didn’t HEAR you when you said we had to leave early.” So I say, “Okay. Well maybe we should take you to the doctor to have your ears checked.” And promptly forget about it.

About 20 minutes later, backpack retrieved, 8-i-TUDE in class —I am in the library booking the conference room for a meeting and bean looks at the librarian and says, “We going take Usha to doc-tor. Get her ears checked.” I’m pretty sure beet red doesn’t do it justice.

Meanwhile, fast forward to now:
I really and truly can’t account for the passing of time any longer. Take today. It was my ideal running weather. Couldn’t wait to get out in that 64 degrees and take off in fact. But I was stuck editing a flyer and on a call from 7 to 8. Had to man the PTO Morning Table at school 8:10 until 9:15. (Someone had even come thinking I was a no-show because I was stuck on a call driving up to school.) Raced home to edit another PDF and send it out. On more calls. More edits. Blah-blah. Then, with minutes to spare, raced off to take bean to her preschool orientation. Left my phone at home on purpose. Came back to scarf down lunch, put bean down for nap, return calls, check email, etc. Decided to lay down for a few minutes since I had worked until midnight last night. Fell fast asleep for two minutes. Checked email again. Bean wakes up just in time to race out to pick 8-i-TUDE from school. Call in car on the way to school. Quick home to get ready for soccer practice. More edits to more PDFs. Back out the door. Edits to animation script. Final bid for another PDF. Pre-press for file that needs to be ready on Tuesday am. And suddenly, it’s 8:30. The hubby is out at a work dinner and I’m thinking: “GD it’s been a looooong time since I wrote a blog.” I’m wanting to camp out on the couch for some long-overdue TiVo…but.

And that’s why I didn’t get a run in. I damn well need to wake up at 5 to do shit for myself. It’s that insane.

It isn’t always this bad. In fact, I’ve had weeks of definitely taking Friday off and doing the whole “I’m done at 2:45 thing.” But then a new client comes in with a boatload of work and I just can’t say no. Not when Chrysler’s filing for bankruptcy. I have a b-partner, but she’s still on sabbatical. Remember that? I even had the papers drawn up for a buy-out (another reason I’m buried alive) —but it’s all on HOLD. Thank God. So I’m just in heads-down mode hoping to weather the shit-storm called the US economy. So far, so shit-filled. 🙂

And after about 10 years worth of bitching and moaning, we finally booked some freakin’ tickets to good ole SC. Every frickin’ year there is a gold-plated reason that we really can’t skip going home. This year it’s a goody. The hubby’s bro is getting married. We are thrilled beyond words to see him happy. It just sucks that yet another year of our precious vaca is going to be spent racing across that fair state to see who we can squeeze in that we haven’t seen in years. Love seeing all of the much-loved people I sorely miss, but hate the fact that vaca is now a race against the clock. Vaca should be boat drinks on the beach. Vaca should be the bee-you-ti-full Montage experience where you sit by the pool and raise a flag on the back of your chair when you need a refill. (Which is how I spent my b-day. Seriously.) And I can’t remember the last time we did that as a family. Girls’ weekends are one thing (and they are damn short, let me tell ya).

Do you know what it feels like to race around, day after day, week after week only to get to vacation and race around the entire time? It’s some kind of shitty karma. That’s gotta be it. A cosmic joke.

So call me bitter. Call me bitchy. Call me anything. Just call me. My girls are growing up in front of my very eyes. Seeing bean pack up her backpack and strut off to preschool like nobody’s business hit me hard. And Miss 8-i-TUDE asked me if she was skinny. Yes. Skinny. And brought out the Vanity Fair with Jessica Simpson on the cover in the way of explanation. Damn. Already. And I thought I was so high and mighty because of my Barbie boycott. I shot myself in the foot with what I thought was a high-brow literary sort of rag. Ha.

I’ll make it. And life is truly good. Full to overflowing in fact. Amazing friends, two incredible little girls, solid-love-filled marriage, a beautiful garden, a packed social calendar and a family that loves us in spite of our bitching and moaning about coming to visit them. I would say that adds up to success. Even if those runs tend to be elusive while the mid-section takes full advantage of the bounty.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Last Request. Paolo Nutini. Sure I can accept that we’re going nowhere, but one last time let’s go there.

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