5/22/03
I lost all the Post-it Notes I scribbled on last Sunday while I sat with Debbie in the hospital. If I could find them I'd tell you all about Debbie's mysterious virus and the vomiting and what not. I think there was also a lot about Allie's bout with similar symptoms that same weekend. It was heavy on descriptions of puking when we went to Tony Roma's for dinner.
I'm fairly sure the Post-it Notes have been run through the washing machine. They probably came out as a hard, yellow, paper lozenge that would disintegrate into powder if you tried to crack into it.
Oh well.
If you really want to know what happened last weekend drop me an email and I'll tell you all about it. Or just write Dwayne. He was there, with his wife and doggie for Satan'syerma weekend. He can probably offer you a more objective perspective.
Now it's the end of the week and we're settling back into our normal routine. Take last night's dinner, for example. Despite all the usual struggles with Allie at dinner time (I'm full. I don't like chicken. I have a tummy ache. Can I have some chocolate?) she was in a good mood. Bath night with Mommy probably helped matters. Debbie allows bath time to be more fun than I do. I'm all about scrubbing and thorough rinsing. Deb is more of a soaking, splashing, squirting, giggling kind of bather.
When I finally got in from mowing the lawn I found Allie on the couch with her mother munching on Teddy Grahams. I took issue with the fact that Debbie basically substituted small bear-shaped cookies for the grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli dinner I made. But I know how weary the food wars make me so I didn't make too big of an issue out of it. Plus Allie was clean and ready for me to put to bed.
When we got upstairs I grabbed a book and asked Allie if she wanted me to read some poetry.
"What?"
"Poems. Do you want me to read you some poetry?"
"But that's my big girl book."
"Yeah, I know it's your big girl book, but it's also a book of poetry."
"No. That's Where the End of the Sidewalk."
"It's called, Where the Sidewalk Ends and inside is a bunch of poems. I've been reading you poetry, Allie."
Allie flashed me a look that said, "Whatever. Just get down to business and read the one about the snail up the guy's nose that will eat your fingers."
The next thing you know, it's time for me to go to bed.
What I'm working toward here is the fact that I was thinking about time management as I drove to work this morning. I'm doing a haphazard, fairly crappy job of managing a very precious asset. Every evening seems to slip right by me. It all feels like this tremendous struggle to make it to the weekend. And once we make it to Saturday and Sunday the days decide to dissolve even more quickly and then next thing you know I'm back in the Mazda going 75 mph to hurry back to my cube.
So here's my question: How do I make the most of every minute? How do I make weekdays indiscernible from the weekends? How do I make the most of the time I spend with my family?
The answer is easy. I quit whining and just make the things I want to happen, happen. I often forget that I'm not a victim. I haven't trapped myself by the choices I've made. I simply forgot to make the most of those choices. A good example would be my job. I made the decision to do what I do for a living. If I really didn't want to go to work where I do everyday I could work hard to find something else to do to support my family. But I must not be that miserable. So rather than bemoan the fact that I'm removed from the places I'd rather be and the things that I'd rather do for ten hours a day I need to get happy.
Sorry to get all Tony Robbins on you, but I'm trying to psych myself up. I'm tired of feeling like I've been sentenced. I've got it good. Really good. Probably better than I deserve. So it's time that I got grateful and started making the most of it.
All I need is a little bit of energy.
I'm sure if I took a little nap I'd be better prepared to get my life firing on all eight cylinders.
Heh.
Okay, so I'm not going on the motivational speakers circuit anytime soon. But I really do need an attitude adjustment. And I'm not the only one.
