My Busy Day

Two years ago, if you’d have asked me what I’d do with 18 extra hours in my week, I would have told you this: I could run a small nation.
I reasoned I was so efficient by the time my twins were two years old, that I could easily serve as CFO of a South American economy while running a household and managing my freelance career.
If only I had the time…
Well, it just so happens that this year’s preschool calendar has afforded me those extra 18 hours—my kids school three days each week—and I had big, big, big plans.
My agenda included (but was not limited to):
• Making daily batches of organic vegetable puree to stir into homemade stews, soups and smoothies thus upping the nutritional content of my family’s every meal;
• Composing handwritten notes of thanks to educators who had touched my life (I would include artwork made by my kids and photographs, of course);
• Transforming my new 1-acre backyard into a private Eden complete with 15 varieties of Texas roses grown from vintage seeds;
• Sewing Halloween costumes inspired by the Victorian era for the entire tribe including Papa, even though he would likely protest.
I am shocked to tell you that it’s October and I have not yet accomplished one of those goals. Moreover, I do not have time to run Bolivia in my new 18-hour timeframe.
Heck, I don’t even have time to deal with Paraguay.
The truth is, I cannot seem to get my laundry done.
Thus, I have decided to do a self-analysis to see where the problem lies. Below is a log of how I spent my time today:
• 6:35 a.m. Woke up. Wondered if I had put enough Diet Coke into the fridge to chill.
• 6:45 a.m. Showered; peered into mirror and considered if sleek new hairstyle was actually Helmet-head in disguise.
• 7:15 a.m. Noted the absence of food in the fridge following week-long vacation; gave credit to husband cooking children Eggs-Over-Celery for breakfast; searched for missing school library books; felt significantly guilty for failing to push child to search; wondered if child would someday end up on mean streets of Philadelphia for her failure to embrace responsibility.
• 7:25 a.m. Searched for missing uniform slacks.
• 7:32 a.m. Searched for missing school bags.
• 7:33 a.m. Cursed self for watching “Dancing With the Stars” the previous night instead of perfecting Morning Rush System; wondered how many more spin classes it would take to get Brooke Burke’s abs.
• 7:34 a.m. Crammed uncooperative, whimpering child into uniform slacks; chased second child from room to room to room with hairbrush while yelling; made mental note to stop yelling before 9 a.m.
• 7:42 a.m. Opened Diet Coke.
• 7:47 a.m. Drove to preschool. Provided non-threatening definition of cancer and/or cancer-related baldness to child; outlined four preventatives of cancer intertwining the importance of vegetables and fruit into discussion.
• 8:15 a.m. Arrived at preschool. Dropped off 10 pages of leaves enshrined in wax paper complete with species names.
• 8:22 a.m. Social time! Chatted with fellow Hot Mama in parking lot.
• 8:23 a.m. Back in car. Bound for gas station/Target.
• 8:45 a.m. Stuck in Barbie aisle contemplating whether or not Barbie with iridescent wings would have more bribery power over Barbie with teeny bikini; congratulated self for choosing cheaper $5 option; wondered if daughter’s body image would be irrevocably harmed due to Barbie presence in home.
• 8:55 a.m. Hunkered down in Aisle 5 doing long division: Is it cheaper to buy 40 ounces of Jif or 22? Could not come up with answer sans paper; made mental note to enroll in community college math class.
• 10:00 a.m. Began unloading groceries.
• 10:05 a.m. Realized must clean fridge before putting away groceries.
• 10:10 a.m. Realized must clean b-fast dishes before cleaning fridge.
• 11 a.m. Pulled out Pumpkin Chili recipe. Realized I forgot to buy pumpkin pie spice, which meant all three pounds of lean ground beef would be flavorless; substituted apple pie spice; said prayer.
• 11:35 a.m. Called Hot Mama in Michigan and left voice mail; realized Kathryn and I have not actually spoken in four months, only traded life stories via voice mail.
• 11:37 a.m. Unloaded four suitcases.
• Noon. Gulped down pumpkin chili while listening to “Fresh Air” episode featuring columnist from Alaska; fretted whether or not journalism career will ever really take off again; considered whether stay-at-home motherhood was worth the sacrifice; decided it probably was (on most days); made mental note to e-mail magazine contacts regarding recent essays.
• 12:12 p.m. Cleaned up dishes; made mental note to buy new plastic Gladware.
• 12: 22 p.m. Checked out hair. Decided new cut is necessary; determined $40 was misspent on trendy flatiron; hoped like heck old stylist would take me back; mentally composed forgiveness speech for straying from her steadfast hands.
• 12:25 p.m. Took out recycling.
• 12:27 p.m. Made beds, threw laundry in hampers.
• 1:00 p.m. Realized public library books are overdue; found list of books; horrified to realize we had 66—somewhere—in the house; made mental note to tell husband to stop encouraging literacy.
• 1:02 p.m. Began sorting through kids’ book collection.
• 1:30 p.m. Considered whether or not “Curious George” books are really a rip off, as all are same plot doctored with different themes; decided Seuss is most versatile and original; lovingly patted old baby board books; considered how life would be different if we had a third child; decided not to bring this up with husband until Mastercard clears.
• 1:50 p.m. Kitchen alarm goes off indicating time to pack up to pick up kids.
• 1:55 p.m. Climbed over assorted granola bar wrappers into the driver’s seat; complimented self of bringing along water vs. Diet Coke; pangs for 82-ounce Diet Coke begin.
• 2:15 p.m. Arrived at preschool car line.
• 2:17 p.m. Wondered where the heck my “free” day went…