I often feel like Sisyphus around my house. I think that in the grand scheme of things, a person is either time-oriented or not. At home, I am the only such person. Lord knows Will is not. To be fair, Stella may be more like me one day, but by default small children cannot “get” time. I got my time fussiness straight from my dad. He was always the one on family trips – whether to Disney or the local Pizza Hut – who had to “make good time.” I can still remember him rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration at any lollygagging. To my credit, I was always first in the “ready to go” line.
I will concede that I can get wound pretty tight about things that I could probably relax from time to time. The world will not end if laundry isn’t done by 11:00 AM. In my head, however, if laundry isn’t done by 11, that means the dryer might heat the house up which will make vacuuming more unpleasant and possibly decrease my dinner choices by a factor of 3 since you cannot possibly have heat gain from both the dryer AND the oven within the same 6-8 hour interval in the summer time. You see? It’s a bit crazy-making, but there is some method to my incredible madness.
I can still remember being young myself and how time was my constant enemy. But for a very different reason than it is my enemy now. It seemed then like it would be FOREVER until Christmas or summer vacation and a 20 minute car ride somewhere may as well been a 2 month trans-Atlantic voyage. Church was four score and seven years of hell each and every Sunday when my dad would make me go. Now, I get stressed that I ONLY have 3 months to prepare until my halls must be decked and what will the Easter Bunny bring next year, especially since I’ll be on maternity leave and be home with Stella AND Baby X?
For now, it’s a fight any time we want to go anywhere. I can’t let go of the concept of time and Will and Stella could care less. Who cares if we’re on time? Will’s argument is that everyone else is late, so if we’re on time, we’re early. I think if everyone thinks this way, the whole system breaks down and chaos and anarchy prevail. He and I both end up gritting our teeth and not speaking to each other the first few minutes of whatever journey we’re on.
Why is the relevant today? We’re about to go on a vacation to the beach. Will’s parents have gotten a condo, so we’re just a 4 hour car ride from someplace other than home. I predict at least 3 meltdowns before 11 AM (grown-up meltdowns, not Stella meltdowns), particularly since my adorable rooster got me up at 4:30. Oh, and one of my stupid cats peed on the curtain in front of the sliding glass door within 5 minutes of our rising. He’s an “emotional pee-er,” and must have seen the suitcase last night.
Anyone want a cat?