Life has become a big to-do list
While I’m glad I never again have to go through all those awkward stages of teen development and hopefully never have to experience childbirth again, I’ve been taking stock of things lately and realized I’m approaching what I like to call a new phase.
The 30s cannot be considered middle age, as that would be an insult to those who expect to live longer than 60. But this new phase, whatever it’s called, is going to pass by me if I’m not careful.
These thoughts occurred to me as I looked at my computer screen, where there were no less than four sticky notes stuck along the sides. Things to do keep popping up mysteriously there.
They serve a useful purpose of course, and that is to make us not forget, but the cure is often worse than the cough. My sticky notes get me places on the days I’m supposed perform a function somewhere, but my daily method of existence almost always entails being pressed for time. Most often, I try to scrunch it all in and arrive at the last minute, stretched to the limit in true working mother fashion.
The problem is they are not just reserved for the office. I have them at home, stuck to mirrors and doors and refrigerators. I’ve even stuck one on the lamp shade before. The blue ones were all over my bathroom floor one morning in some kind of sticky note delight only babies know about, but that’s another story.
It is probably time for me to admit I’m most definitely not living the American Dream, but by the words contained on these self-created to-do lists. I am compelled to transfer notes from schools or about work onto these little dandies. By some strange twist of fate, I am collecting more and more of them every day.
Most working parents spend a lot of time running from place to place, doing things like getting aggravated at school traffic because the people in front of them are holding up hundreds of other people. For me, I run to the day care after doing the school traffic shuffle in order to make it there seconds before they stop offering breakfast.
The only consolation to this flurry of activity is knowing I’m not alone – arriving at the destination and hearing another friendly working mom mutter, “I’m running behind today.” We nod at each other in knowing fashion because there’s not much use in complaining.
It’s just the way it is and we get used to it. When day care was closed for a federal holiday, even though ample noticed was given and my husband was off work that day, I dressed, diapered and whisked the baby into the car seat and drove all the way to town after fighting the school traffic.
I obviously didn’t write the sticky note on that one. While feeling forgetful, it made me grateful that day care is there when I need it, and I do need it out of necessity for our family. I’m not one of those people working to fulfill the need for stuff that will end up in my yard sale next year for a fraction of the price.
Most working parents my age are doing the same thing – living life not one day at a time, but by one sticky note at a time.
As I look at my collection of stickies, I definitely have purpose. It’s really more than a gathering of things to do rather than a five-year plan right now, but that’s how it is.
Maybe it’s time to rethink this philosophy and move onto something else, like knowing there is freedom that comes to people who are in their 30s.
We no longer have to worry about clustering up and being the same as everyone else, as teens do, or “finding” ourselves in our 20s. But if we’re not careful enough, the freedoms that come with escaping those painful ages will be trumped by the all powerful, all knowing to-do list.
Amy Satterwhite is a reporter for the Standard. She can be reached at 473-2191.