Added: Issaac Fowlkes - Date: 07.07.2021 09:03 - Views: 32890 - Clicks: 2349
The summer before my youngest daughter started preschool, I fantasized about what I was going to do with all the free time I had coming, making mental notes every time I drove by an antique shop; imagining myself splayed out in the steam room at our gym. I planned to mom fantasies my way through the Lost Generation section at the library and then, inspired, finally bang out my novel at one of the legendary local coffee shops without a drive-thru.
There would be well kept flower boxes and thoughtful holiday dressings adorning my windows, nice relaxing car rides listening to explicit throwback gangster rap, and no one fighting in the back seat as I puttered about town. All my dreams were on the verge of coming true in the two hours and 20 minutes I had all to myself, two days a week.
It had been two long years, and my pitcher was spitting sawdust. The following day I had new brakes put on the car. No matter, my Fantasy Plans could wait—I had all year. By the time I arrived at pickup on the second day, I was lathered in a frantic sweat and still had yet to do one enjoyable thing for myself, but so what! I had a whole year of free mornings coming my way. Then the next week, my eldest daughter came down with whatever virus was in fashion that month, and I began to feel frustrated. Just give her a trash can and stick her in the corner. I want to go to the steam room! Wait, you need how much home made purple Play-Doh by tomorrow?
Yeah, Friday is fine to get my teeth cleaned. I just need to drive to mom fantasies places to find it first.
Congratulations on your new baby! Can you send out a cable repair guy next Thursday between and ? I already explained why chardonnay is a write-off. Why do we need this conference call with our ant? Friday morning it is. Before I knew what was happening, it was December, and forget about doing anything for yourself with stocking stuffers hanging over your head. There were presents to be bought and morning parties and programs to attend, and then I blinked and every spare second was sucked right up. My four hours of weekly rest and relaxation were right around the corner.
No matter what came up, I promised myself to hold these mornings sacred and no errand or chore would eat up my precious free time. I believe it was sometime around February, when I spent the morning shuttling between three separate Office Depots looking for Canon color printer ink when reality set in.
Two weeks of spring break mom fantasies right around the corner, and my novel was still nothing but a bunch of scribbles in a ratty spiral bound notebook. It was March, and our Christmas wreath still hung, albeit cobwebbed, on the front door. The antique shop was having a going-out-of-business sale. Just as I fumbled around trying to find my bearings when the kids were born, always underestimating the amount of time and energy it took to care for something that only ate and pooped, I was once again mom fantasies for familiar ground—underestimating the amount of time it takes to keep a household running like a machine.
Why does their school need so many cookies? Why are we always out of stamps? We are now in our third year of preschool, and there have been only a handful of days my Fantasy Plans have seen the light of day: a walk here, breakfast with a friend there. Every once in a while I get to take advantage of the opportunity to come up for a quick breath of air.
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