I’m lucky. I know that. I really do.
I have three lovely, healthy kids, a wonderful husband, loving and supportive parents, financial stability, great friends.
So why do I find myself in a lingering “Mom Funk”?
I think it has something to do with time, and my slowly sinking realization that there are, in fact, only 24 hours in a day.
I want to spend all day reading. And all day writing. And all day playing with my kids. Eating snacks and tweeting about Wallace Stegner. Getting reacquainted with yoga. And – of course – hanging out with Husband.
But during this season of life, there’s only a hint of time for each thing each week. And instead of making the most of the time I do have, I find myself shuffling wildly among my choices until my days disappear into a series of half-finished e-mails, cryptic notes scrawled on Kroger receipts, and my kids asking for more of me while I’m looking for more too.
And here’s the worst of it: I don’t even waste my time on guilty pleasures; I waste it on guilty boredom, clicking here and there, jotting down this and that, and feeling no sense of accomplishment when I’m done. Just this hollow feeling in my stomach and the vague notion that I could be doing better.
In the past week, I have come up with new ways to structure my days, scrapping them all one by one. I’ve filled my paper calendar, then my online calendar with various organizational schemes. Will I exercise and then answer e-mails and then write? Or will I read and then check my Google Reader? Or should I forget all of it and just sleep whenever possible?
I hit upon a new idea, only to crumble it up, throwing it away just as I’m throwing away my time.
I was always taught by both of my parents that a woman can do it all – family, career, dreams. But what I’m only coming to learn through experience is that it’s nearly impossible to do it all, all at once.
Time is a limiting factor. Especially when you use your time as poorly as I do lately. With a general lack of motivation and with summer’s lethargy, I find myself doing less even as I lament not doing more.
And I can’t blame my kids for this one. Not really.
Even as a mom of three under four, I have a fair amount of time to pursue my passions, thanks to their good sleep habits, the aforementioned wonderful husband, and our fabulous babysitter. But instead of using the hours I do have to write or read or get myself back into some semblance of shape, I fritter them away making plans about how to use my time.
I use my time on guilty boredom.
Do you make the most of your time? What’s your favorite guilty pleasure? Your most lamentable source of guilty boredom?