Editor’s note: I get that y’all are not THAT interested in my everyday life. I’m regular folk, like all of you, after all. The challenge, sometimes, in reading a person’s blog is that there is a message buried in the words. It will be a private message that only you, the reader, will get. Give it time.
I’m standing in the upstairs bathroom in my underwear folding laundry I didn’t know was in the dryer while the shower is running. Our 8-month-old puppy, Beans, is on the back deck, yipping to come inside, and the makings of a turkey salad sandwich for my husband’s lunch are on the kitchen counter. I’ve half-packed my own lunch, and have dug out my DD Perks card to leave for said husband on top of his work cooler. (My polite way of keeping him from dipping into the checking account too deeply before the next paycheck hits. I know there are at least ten bucks on the Perks card, not counting my birthday freebie, if he is invited to use it by a thoughtful Dunkin host.) These are the strategies for avoiding spousal nitpicky bickering in the mornings on a work day…
All this, and it is 6:26 a.m. on a Wednesday, a mere 20 minutes from the time that I need to grab my backpack and two cellphones that are still charging, along with my wishful-thinking yoga clothes for a ‘”maybe I can get there” 6 pm flow class, and speed out the door. Next to my collection of “bag lady work gear” is the home equity payment that needs to be dropped into the mailbox on my way to catch the bus. Oh, and a Bed, Bath & Beyond coupon I cut out to drop into my envelope of other “wishful thinking” coupons that most likely will get crumpled and tossed in the trash because they will have long expired before I ever get the chance, the extra cash, or the desire to use them.
The barking continues. The multitasking continues. Until.
“WTF? Is the dog outside?!”
Yes, I’ve cleaned up the language. Acronyms are more fun that way.
I assertively (but not politely) point out said underwear outfit, now-warmed up running shower spraying and laundry mid-fold (mostly his, I might note. But I don’t). He storms out. I don’t know to where.
I step into the tub and go for another record-breaking shower.
I could be the Mary Lou Retton of fastest shower takers. Ever.
My champion hygiene gymnastics aside, husband steps back into the bathroom and notes my defiance. He chides my lack of compassion for the neighbors. He plods down the stairs like the kitchen is on fire, to scold the Beans.
I hear instructions to “Get on your bed.” (No, I’m wrong. It’s more like, “GET ON YOUR BED!!!” Three exclamation points, no less.)
I try not to dwell on the previous night’s exchange that the correct term is “GO TO your bed,” but I lost that debate hours ago.
Ah, the work life.
Commutes, coffee on the run, making lunches, getting the kids off to school or the dog calmly into her crate. Making sure the bills are paid, making notes of what you need to squeeze into your day. When is my upcoming doctor’s appointment? Better call and double-check. Is that line item on the new credit card bill legit? Better check. Haven’t talked to my mom in a couple days – maybe I can fit in a call at lunchtime.
It’s no wonder we forget to breathe. There. I just did. Check that box.
Now that I’ve stressed you all out with my crazy routine, how are you feeling?
Next up: Multitasking is the Devil.
©2017 By Marianne V. Heffernan