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Crikey. How did June slip under the doormat? Never saw that one coming, but isn’t it the same every year? Suddenly, you’re staring down the barrel of Christmas and you’ve only just taken down last year’s tree, and you’re still finding flecks of tinsel in the carpet, not to mention the dregs of one too many glühwein staining the outdoor decking. You might even find a shred or too-dry turkey between your tightest tooth gap, it seems that recent.
So, why is it that each year just zooms by even faster than the year before? There’s no way that was a six month period just whizzed by… more like three months and two days. Maybe three days at a pinch. At this rate, I’m figuring by the time I reach ninety, a year will evaporate in about an hour.
For kids, however, it’s a little different. Do you remember waiting for Christmas? Oh, that surely took a decade or more. It was pure agony. Birthdays were similar; Easter, too. Likewise, single days took eons. I can still see the big black and white clock ticking on the classroom wall, taking its sweet time to tock.
The poor monkeys. If Christmas takes a decade to arrive, imagine how far away adulthood and subsequent chocolate-stuffing freedom must seem to kids. My six-year-old son Riley is constantly pestering me with ‘how-old’ questions. How old does he have to be before he can travel to Thailand. How old until he can decorate his room with skulls and cross bones (just pictures; not the real thing – golly, that’s a psychiatrist’s couch waiting to happen). How old until he can play soccer for Australia. How old until bourbon and coke. I kid you not. Frightening.
I don’t know about you, but my evaporating days are even more frightening than the kids’ skull and cross bone dilemmas. Not only am I struggling to balance my career life with kids and husbands (actually, only one husband) and the nightly dinner debacle and all those other things us women do so well, I’m also just trying to get dressed in the morning. Sometimes I SO wish I could just zip myself into a big peapod and go to the shops without anyone knowing who I am, let alone how my kabushka hairdo is looking.
Honestly, I’m as vain as they come and would never leave the house in a tracksuit, unless I was going for a run… (hmph. titter. wa ha ha ha haaa!) but it’s so appealing to make the most of one’s precious time by neglecting hair. And rear ends. And toenails.
I clipped my toenails last night for the first time in… let’s just say I have airconditioned socks in the toe-al area thanks to these great dirty talons sprouting from my clodhoppers. So you can only imagine how long it’s been. I looked at those toes and momentarily considered a pedicure. Sure, got lots of time for that, just as I have time for massages and hair dressing appointments (ho ho ho ho ho!).
But seriously. I’ve got to make time. Don’t we all make choices in our lives? Don’t we all prioritize in our strive for balance? Toenails or tax returns? Massages or manuscripts? Hair appointments or heavy fines because your license lapsed?
If you see a tall blonde in a big peapod at the motor registry, you’ll know what choice I’ve made.
How do you manage your time? Leave your comments below.