Time Management and the Working Mom
By the end of this blog I will have named it, but there is a phenomenon, perhaps a law of physics or just a coinky dink that dictates the amount of time you have to complete a task is directly in contrast to the efficiency with which you complete said task. I think, nature abhors a void is close.
I started work at 3 years old in a sweat shop in Thailand, I toiled 16 hours a day and ate pumpkin soup at night huddled in a tiger cage with no light and only a piece of dental floss named Kenny to keep me company. Not true. I did start work at 15 in the summer, being carted into New Jersey Manufacturers Insurance Company (stand up straight when you say that!). It could have passed for the bank in Mary Poppins, men in suits everywhere and women running around fulfilling their every work desire, maybe more but I was only 15 and wasn't on the lookout for improprieties. Every since that day and before that if you count chores and starting dinner at the age of 9... "Chele, you home from school? Good, start making meatloaf, you've seen me do it and set the table and dust. Have you seen your brother? No? Okay, see you in a bit. If you get a chance and if you don't I'll understand, pave the driveway." I've been working. I took 6 weeks off for each daughter. I don't think I could stay home, I really don't.
What frosts my cookie is the work doesn't go away for all working moms and maybe that's the catch really planting your heels and holding strong. Everything gets done, the house is cleaned, grocery shopping done, menus planned, meals prepared, lawn mowed, leaves blown, painting, repairs, errands, it all gets done. How is that possible. How after working a 9 hour day with an hour total commute do these things get accomplished? Well the weekend is shit on Saturday morning. Evenings are spent in a frenzy getting dinner on the table (whilst starving, literally starving to death!!) the sand vacuumed off the hard woods - thank you but I'll decide when they need sanding, carting kids here and there and then Sunday -who the frig knows??? The dust will be there no matter what, no matter how hard I scrub it is either still there or comes back. It's a thankless endless hell. Anyone who says it's a labor of love is on meth.
So in the mornings when I wish I could lounge, roam around watching the news in a robe and not worry about going to work, I throw off my lovely Pottery Barn covers and announce to myself, "It's time to make the donuts." I get up and I make it happen. Someday, mark my words, someday I'll be spending a large portion of my time on a sandy beach, swimming, tanning, eating figs, cheese, olives, bread, drinking wine and planning the next meal and nap. It sounds like heaven and it very well maybe for me, until then, Monday through Friday if you need me, 7:30 -5pm, try me at the office. 'Cramming 10 Pounds of Shit in a 5 Pound Bag.' I think Sir Isaac Newton would get it.
I started work at 3 years old in a sweat shop in Thailand, I toiled 16 hours a day and ate pumpkin soup at night huddled in a tiger cage with no light and only a piece of dental floss named Kenny to keep me company. Not true. I did start work at 15 in the summer, being carted into New Jersey Manufacturers Insurance Company (stand up straight when you say that!). It could have passed for the bank in Mary Poppins, men in suits everywhere and women running around fulfilling their every work desire, maybe more but I was only 15 and wasn't on the lookout for improprieties. Every since that day and before that if you count chores and starting dinner at the age of 9... "Chele, you home from school? Good, start making meatloaf, you've seen me do it and set the table and dust. Have you seen your brother? No? Okay, see you in a bit. If you get a chance and if you don't I'll understand, pave the driveway." I've been working. I took 6 weeks off for each daughter. I don't think I could stay home, I really don't.
What frosts my cookie is the work doesn't go away for all working moms and maybe that's the catch really planting your heels and holding strong. Everything gets done, the house is cleaned, grocery shopping done, menus planned, meals prepared, lawn mowed, leaves blown, painting, repairs, errands, it all gets done. How is that possible. How after working a 9 hour day with an hour total commute do these things get accomplished? Well the weekend is shit on Saturday morning. Evenings are spent in a frenzy getting dinner on the table (whilst starving, literally starving to death!!) the sand vacuumed off the hard woods - thank you but I'll decide when they need sanding, carting kids here and there and then Sunday -who the frig knows??? The dust will be there no matter what, no matter how hard I scrub it is either still there or comes back. It's a thankless endless hell. Anyone who says it's a labor of love is on meth.
So in the mornings when I wish I could lounge, roam around watching the news in a robe and not worry about going to work, I throw off my lovely Pottery Barn covers and announce to myself, "It's time to make the donuts." I get up and I make it happen. Someday, mark my words, someday I'll be spending a large portion of my time on a sandy beach, swimming, tanning, eating figs, cheese, olives, bread, drinking wine and planning the next meal and nap. It sounds like heaven and it very well maybe for me, until then, Monday through Friday if you need me, 7:30 -5pm, try me at the office. 'Cramming 10 Pounds of Shit in a 5 Pound Bag.' I think Sir Isaac Newton would get it.
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