As I write this, my mind is spinning its proverbial wheels with all the things I have to do:
- Deal with overflowing piles of laundry in two different rooms.
- Put away two laundry baskets full of clean clothes.
- Wash sink full of dirty dishes.
- Wash dishwasher full of dirty dishes.
- Go to the store and get soap for the dishwasher so those dishes can get washed.
- Fill out jog-a-thon pledge forms times three for the school fundraiser.
- Have weekly meeting with the husband about how to navigate the families’ various and numerous activities for the coming week.
- Plan meals for the week based on: precisely zero edible things in the house, times any number of the six of us will actually be in the house at the same time, the surprise, random inedible items of the week.
- Finish this post.
- Plan multiple lessons for upcoming children’s programs.
- Navigate two highly sensitive school situations.
- Respond to five emails I have been putting off.
I will spare you the rest. Like you, my life seems to be a constant cycle of never having enough time to do the things I have to do, never mind getting to the things I want to do. I have found myself increasingly frustrated with the everyday life tasks getting in the way of “my time.” “My time” is also known as reading time, preferably in an atmosphere of total silence. You can see why there are multiple layers of frustration, since time and silence are as far from me as Hogwarts (the real one, not the Universal Studios variety).
It seems like an ineffective parenting strategy to find oneself constantly annoyed by the tasks of parenting. But try as I may, I cannot carve out enough of the time to read that keeps me sane. I have tried waking up early before everyone else is awake, but then I don’t want to put the book down when they all wake up. I have tried staying up late, but then I am exhausted when they all wake up. I have tried reading during the miniscule amount of time I set aside for exercise and immediately gained ten pounds.
A few months ago, while ironing (yes, I begrudgingly iron) I was feeling especially hard done by, because I COULD BE READING! The thought occurred to me that instead of listening to Hamilton for the 82 millionth time (here’s to 82 million more times), I could be listening to a book. Wait, what?! Listen to a book. But that thought was immediately dismissed because listening to books is not reading them and I read books. Everyone knows you read with your eyes not your ears.
And here is where I admit a far amount of book snobbery on my part. I have long-held the belief that audiobooks are not *real* books. To my way of thinking, their sole purpose is to replace movies during road trips. I have stood firmly on the soap box called “paper-in-hand.”
But when that fleeting audiobook thought entered my mind I started thinking about all the hours I spend during the day with at least one ear bud in my ear. (Because if I can’t read, I have to listen to music…my music. This is to stay sane and, let’s be honest, drown out the incessant fighting, complaining, and whining. Again, perhaps not the most effective parenting strategy, but something has to give and it is better for all of us if that thing is not my mind.) I slowly came to the realization that if I listened to books during all those times when I was listening to music, I could actually start to make small amounts of progress on my “to be read” list. Hmmmmm…
And so for the first time ever, I find myself looking up books on Overdrive and intentionally checking for the headphone icon as opposed to pompously filtering that icon out of my sight. I am beginning to have hope that maybe, just maybe, there is way to make progress on this never-ending list of things to do while also getting the chance to cross some books off my list. In my imagination, this possibility gives way to a mother of a bright and bubbly disposition and a family seamlessly gliding from one thing to the next with nary a bump in the road.
It really could be that simple, right?!