Stepping back

I got home from work early last week. Usually, I don’t walk in the door until at least 6:30. But on this day I was settled in right after 5. The kids were playing indoors with a friend and I realized I had time to get a few things done around the house. I made lunches for the next day, put away a basketful of laundry, picked up the mail and had a nice conversation with a neighbor, scheduled a doctor’s visit and put something in the oven for dinner.

While I was waiting for dinner to cook, I realized I had enough time to vacuum the floors. As I pushed the vacuum, I fell into the well of my own thoughts. I considered how nice it was to be home early today. To accomplish tasks that usually had to wait until the weekend to get done, or never done at all. I thought about how relaxed I felt, even though I was wrestling with the vacuum hose as I sucked up the dirt that hides behind the couch cushions.

It dawned on me that I’ve been so consumed by my work these last few years and so accepting of my crazy schedule that after a while, that’s all I know. While my friends remind me how crazy my life is, with a 45+hour work week and a two-hour roundtrip commute to boot, I’ve forgotten the simple joy of being home from work before dark. Before my kids have already eaten and been bathed by someone else.

I contemplated how frantic I feel every day because my laundry list of to-do’s never ends. Nor does it ever seem like it’s getting close to the end. Every week I struggle to remove items that will never get done, period. I thought about all the reasons I went back to work in the first place, to find myself and my sense of worth. To make a difference in the world. To make a meaningful contribution. Whatever happened to all that and is it still worth it, I wondered?

I questioned how happy I am right now, living my crazy life. I decided that what I do now is not the meaningful life contributions I imagined making. So why am I so dedicated to it? Perhaps I would be better off taking a job with less responsibility that would leave more time to do the things I’m missing… like driving my kids to dance class or making them a home-cooked meal more often than just Sunday nights. I thought for a minute that just maybe I was willing to take a step backwards, or laterally, in my career and focus more on my family. To be the mom I wanted to be. To stop having such guilt.

Even considering the thought of back-burnering my career had never dawned on me before. Never ever. As I called the kids to the dinner table, I decided to put some “thinking time” aside later to ponder this new idea.

Then, after I warned Maya to put the bowl of hot pasta down before she got a drink, she dropped the bowl. Not dropped it as in falling vertically onto the floor. Her friend knocked into her and the bowl of pasta went flying everywhere…it landed on counter tops and cabinets and on the floor six feet away. She started to cry that it wasn’t her fault…Camryn began yelling she asked for a drink and hadn’t yet received it…the friend complained she didn’t like what I had made…then I realized I burned what was in the oven…

…and I couldn’t wait to go back to work the next day.