When I was about 8 months pregnant with Isaac my dad called me to see how I was doing. He said I sounded tired. I was.
(see: 8 months pregnant)
My father said something that has been replaying over in my mind for two days.
“You do know you only get 24-hours a day, right?”
My father was not being condescending. He was poking fun at what he knows to be true about me.
I do not know that I only get 24-hours in a day. Scientifically, I know that certain standards of time exist that are factual and consistent.
- 60 seconds in a minute
- 60 minutes in an hour
- 24 hours in a day
- 7 days in a week
- 52 weeks in a year
- 365 days in a year
Just ask the cast members of Rent.
They’ve got the amount of time in a year down to the minute.
I get it but I am special.
“Chips and pretzels are on the counter. If you want something, have that.”
I have a husband who took me on an adventure last night that included a brewery, a casino and a late night steak smothered in cheese and onions. It was a good time.
To recover, I slept in and then we traded. He is now in bed and deservedly so.
I belong to a roller derby team of amazing athletes that challenge me daily. They are also some of the best friends I have ever had. Which is nice, except six hours of every week is dedicated to practicing the sport, another six hours is dedicated to bouting and that doesn’t include travel time if necessary. Add to that the time we spend laughing, drinking, dancing, going to events, volunteering and just generally being awesome and it gets a bit crazy. Ask them. They will tell you.
“Roller Derby takes over your life.”
School starts up again in two weeks. I am trying to decide what class to take while I study up for my re-take of the math assessment exam. Spanish II, Film as Art or Technical Writing which sounds as boring as can be but might help me professionally. In two weeks, my life will become a practice in keeping to the schedule. Skipping my study time, being late, sleeping in or going out could blow my grade for the semester. No pressure.
In all of this, I am still trying to write my story. An emotionally draining, mind-boggling memoir that steals time in heaps. It heals me and hurts me at the same time. It’s kind of like physical therapy for The Walking Wounded. I am asking tons of questions and the answers are coming back like boomerangs.
In the end, I am left with just 24-hours in a day. I need more than that and sometimes I really believe that I can bend time to my will. It frustrates me beyond words when I realize that I cannot actually bent time. When I step back and see that I have no special powers and the clock ticks on whether I like it or not, I get anxious.
I get anxiety over something that I never controlled in the first place. I get flustered, messy and half-assed. I forget things places, show up late or on the wrong day, eat like crap and dream when I try to sleep.
I am a hot fire mess. They don’t call me Firecracker for nothin’.
During this holiday season, I have had some time off. I have locked myself away. I have gone out less, chased simple goals like – well, eat, sleep and enjoy.
It has been a peaceful time. As things head back towards pandemonium, I worry. I count and the hours are not adding up. They never do and yet, somehow I still manage to keep up.
Do you see the problem? Do you see why I am so delusional?
Because I manage. I am not so different from so many mothers.
We take out that rolling-pin, stapler, scotch tape and we will those ends to meet. We stretch like elastic around our families and we plug holes with our toes. We make hours out of minutes and days out of hours.
I am special. I am a mother and that brings with it certain miracle-making, magical powers.
And when I get tired. When it gets to be too much and I get frustrated or annoyed with the clock, I will settle into the time that the rest of the world shares. I will work within reality for a little while. I will slow down for a lunch break with mere mortals.
“You do know you only get 24-hours in a day, right?”
Miracles are not meant to be performed every 24-hours.
PS – To watch this glorious train wreck, LIKE The Mother Flippin’ Facebook Page.