Spares and strikes the balance

I'm feeling a trifle blue today. It may be due to the rum-and-diet-cherry-coke that I mixed for myself circa 1:30p this afternoon. (Ok, so my hubby mixed it for me.) It might be the overwhelming mach speed that seems to suddenly occupy my workday. It might even be the few days before Aunt Flo arrives for her monthly visit. In any case, I’m finding myself slightly down in the dumps.

And so, I’ll carve out some time to write. See, I think that’s the issue. Time. I want all it all. Time with my kids. Time with my husband. Time to kick ass at work. Time with my siblings. Time with my friends. Time to wax my eyebrows, get a massage, work out. Time to call my mom. Time to make (and eat) good food. Time to feel rested. Time to write. Time to read. Time to pray. Time to think. Time to dwell in a clean house. I want time.

I don’t want more time. I just want all of my time.

Sam and Ken need Halloween costumes. Where can we find blue hair dye? Sam’s birthday is Monday. Do we have any cake mix? My anniversary is Tuesday. What’s a good gift? Bills are due Friday. Do we have enough? I’m a week behind for the newsletter that’s not on deadline, but that I’ve promised my boss. The stores we’re responsible for opening are still going to open at the end of July: ready or not. My blog. My blog. My blog. I’d like to write once per week; I’m lucky if I write once per moth. I haven’t seen the pages of a favorite book in months; I haven’t worked out for longer than 30 minutes in I don’t know how long.

This feeling short on time has a direct correlation to my self-expectations. Some might say that my expectations are too high. I expect – may even demand – a certain level of performance in all elements of my life, and so, when enough time is not dedicated to that element, I feel frustrated. Inadequate. Disappointed in myself. Have you ever experienced this?

The good news is, I’m not stressed out. My husband is my teammate, and we divide and conquer the to-do lists together. I get to see my boys every night. My Saturdays are typically my own. This fall has been arguably the best Minnesota fall in years; we play outside in jeans and sweatshirts. My blog hasn’t gone anywhere: still open for entries, and since the invention of the Kindle, I can read a few pages via my cell phone.

Still, this feeling of inadequacy and self-frustration has overstayed its welcome.

I need some ideas for repair. I’ve considered winning the lottery, retiring early, giving up sleep, or all of the above. I've become an out-of-shape, pray-when-I-stay-awake-long-enough, to-do-list driven, gotta-wear-my-next-hat-now person, and it’s time for something to change.

What ideas, tips, experiences can you share that can help me strike the balance that I’m looking for?

Love, Molly

The terrible two of a kind

What happened to September? Here we are - living our life - and suddenly it's six weeks later. Oy. I'd say we've been busy, but that's a dumb excuse for not blogging. The good news is the whole fam damily seems to have shimmied into the rhythm of fall: Dad started night school twice per week, Sam and I grace the city of Bloomington for a couple of hours every Monday night, and Mom's keeping pace with the corporate world.

What's in Bloomington? So glad you asked! It's some kind of parent-kid thing. I hang out with a bunch of two and three year old cherubs; Sam camps in the day care. Mom chills with us for a bit and then she flocks with the other parents to chat about things like routines, tantrums and potty training. Lord knows why she needs help with her tantrums and potty abilities, but who am I to rock that boat? This Monday night school thing is pretty sweet. Dad gets a kid-free night to finish homework, Mom's meeting other parents, and I get to relax with new toys, fun people, and a whole room full of gym mats, slides and dodge balls  ... need I say more?

I had a birthday somewhere in there. Yep - rockin' into the twos, and Dad says that they're far from terrible. We celebrated in style: A picnic lunch at a park with cousins Greta, Nora, Mary Kate and Aunt Bridget. I'm telling you: slides, swings, cool plastic ladder things to climb, angel food cake cupcakes ... I even scored a few new friends out of the deal. Not a a bad way to ring in the start of my third year 'round here. Speaking of birthdays, Sam's set to cross the one-year mark on Halloween. Has that gone fast or what? He's crawling everywhere, cruising along furniture when convenient for him, popping a few teeth, and drooling like a St. Bernard. The good news is, the two of us get along famously these days.

Mom declares that my quarter got stuck. Whatever that means. I finally figured out how to string a few words together, and conversations abound! I talk to the puppies, the neighborhood kids, the walkers, the joggers, the regulars at the park, and my favorite friend, Curious George. Words have never flowed so smoothly; my vocabulary expands exponentially by the day. Favorite phrases include "go down the sccchhhlide," "ride the 'wing," "no, Sam," "Mom ahh work," "Dad ahh cool," "preaze," "no kaynk you," "not yet," and "chill out, dog," and "night-night Curious George." For Christmas, I think I'll request a thesaurus.

In other events, we had a blast at the State Fair with Uncle Mike and Aunt Tammy. We schlepped to Omaha to visit the Corrigan aunts, uncles and cousins, and Grandma and Grandpa Corrigan swung into the Richfield estates for a visit. It's been a pretty sweet six weeks, and these warm fall days whisper the promise of continued good times.
Anticipating a speedy return ... Ken