The grass, it is greener, in patches.
Our housemates have So. Much. Free. Time. It boggles my mind. Granted, they have even less enthusiasm for housework than we do, which frees up some extra time. But mostly, they have free time because they a) have only one job apiece,* b) are not in school, and c) have no children.
Lately I've been so exhausted and hectic that I've been babbling even worse than before, and frequently find myself talking incoherently and (apparently) unstoppably while the people around me look confused, or, worse, look anxiously around for some excuse to escape from me. One of my babbling topics last week was about how freaking hard it is to be in grad school while raising young children. I'm pretty sure that what I effectively communicated was "Don't have kids! Oh my god, don't have kids!" Living with Emma and Brendan reminds me daily of one big difference between having kids and not-having-kids, as they crash on the couch to watch a movie or read or chat after dinner while Cook and I scramble to get the kids to bed, prepare for the next day, and then report to our respective work stations. Free time. What is that, anyway?**
I love both of my incredibly burdensome children. But I want some free time. I can't believe how much free time I used to carelessly squander. What was I THINKING?! I used to play the Sims (a game Cook dismisses as terribly boring, but which I loved). I want the hours I spent playing that game back. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry, and I think I should get a do-over. I will take those hours now, added on to the 24 I get each day. I will be happy to spend them sleeping.
(I'm REALLY looking forward to being done with school, too. But school work can be put away for an hour, and a sad baby or a frustrated preschooler entangled in her swimsuit cannot.)
Tonight after dinner, Dutch and I started some seeds for our new vegetable garden. My tall girl, terribly serious about The Big Responsibility, standing next to me carefully counting out seeds and reading*** packet labels, didn't feel burdensome. She felt like my life. There's no second-guessing; my life has no computer games in it,**** no leisurely mornings, and very little coherent conversation, but it also has two lives nested inside it.
If you happen to talk to me in the next four months, I'm sorry about all the babbling.
*Though Emma is a union organizer who disappears into 120-hour work-weeks when she's on a campaign.
** Oh, right. It's the time I spend frivolously writing blog posts.
*** "P.E.A.R.... puh-eh-ah-rrr. Peru!"
**** just blogging.
Lately I've been so exhausted and hectic that I've been babbling even worse than before, and frequently find myself talking incoherently and (apparently) unstoppably while the people around me look confused, or, worse, look anxiously around for some excuse to escape from me. One of my babbling topics last week was about how freaking hard it is to be in grad school while raising young children. I'm pretty sure that what I effectively communicated was "Don't have kids! Oh my god, don't have kids!" Living with Emma and Brendan reminds me daily of one big difference between having kids and not-having-kids, as they crash on the couch to watch a movie or read or chat after dinner while Cook and I scramble to get the kids to bed, prepare for the next day, and then report to our respective work stations. Free time. What is that, anyway?**
I love both of my incredibly burdensome children. But I want some free time. I can't believe how much free time I used to carelessly squander. What was I THINKING?! I used to play the Sims (a game Cook dismisses as terribly boring, but which I loved). I want the hours I spent playing that game back. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry, and I think I should get a do-over. I will take those hours now, added on to the 24 I get each day. I will be happy to spend them sleeping.
(I'm REALLY looking forward to being done with school, too. But school work can be put away for an hour, and a sad baby or a frustrated preschooler entangled in her swimsuit cannot.)
Tonight after dinner, Dutch and I started some seeds for our new vegetable garden. My tall girl, terribly serious about The Big Responsibility, standing next to me carefully counting out seeds and reading*** packet labels, didn't feel burdensome. She felt like my life. There's no second-guessing; my life has no computer games in it,**** no leisurely mornings, and very little coherent conversation, but it also has two lives nested inside it.
If you happen to talk to me in the next four months, I'm sorry about all the babbling.
*Though Emma is a union organizer who disappears into 120-hour work-weeks when she's on a campaign.
** Oh, right. It's the time I spend frivolously writing blog posts.
*** "P.E.A.R.... puh-eh-ah-rrr. Peru!"
**** just blogging.
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