Several kids ago, I suffered from a terrible running problem. 30+ miles a week, and my favorite distance to run was 8 miles because I could do it in just under an hour. I loved every second of it. What a great sport that gives you exercise AND time to think or chat. Most other sports require focus and concentration. Frankly, that's not my bag, baby.
The most interesting thing about all of the miles I have run in my life (and I did my first road race at about age 11) is that something like 98% of them were outdoors. I have run as soon as the roads were cleared (somewhat) of snow in NY and I have been caught in pop-up thunderstorms in the south. Too damned cold and way too hot- I ran then also. Some people have tried to introduce me to a concept known as the "treadmill." The reason we don't call it "human hamster wheel" is that a marketing person said not to, because that is what those things are. I can go for miles and miles outdoors, but put me on a treadmill and I am looking to get off within five minutes. There is no start or finish line. There isn't any scenery. There is the lady cawing with the other crows on the View jogging next to me.
As an aside- the exercise bike doesn't bother me as much. Go figure.
The punchline is that as mothers, heck, as adults, our life tends to feel like that treadmill. We're worn out and breathing hard, but are have that nagging feeling that, really, we aren't actually going anywhere. The unending piles of laundry (when are they wearing all this stuff?), the dishes, the cooking, driving, homework, commuting, bill-paying, kids' sports, and then collapse in bed. No scenery, no finish line.
Excuse me, Mr Conductor, I'd like to get off this train now.
I've grown weary of the predictability and monotony of the days, and I am exhausted by the feeling that my treadmill is set to 5 minute miles and I'm going to fly off the back (like George Jetson on the dogwalker thing). Maybe it is time to evolve the rhythm of my life. (See, I can't just get a new groove, because many parts of this one I rather enjoy- like my husband and kids. So we'll just morph the peripheral stuff). Step one- everyone who can reach the dials on the washer will do their own wash. I have already taught #1 and #2 to iron the last time they left their school uniform in a ball on the floor, so that's covered.
But what is step two? How do we make sure each day feels unique unto itself? How do we make sure each day is appreciated for the gift that it is? Every precious hour is something we can never get back. Something so fleeting and magical merits a lot more than the lacakadaisical way in which we use it.
"What did you do today? You know, the usual. Not much." ???? Really? Just another chunk of your unique life- gone.
Tonight, I was watching a movie and holding #6. She'll be 8 months next weekend. She is absolutely huge and at the top of the growth charts. More importantly, she is becoming a truly sentient person. She knows her siblings and laughs at them and reaches for them. She crawls to get her toys. She tries to squirm away when I hold her and she sees something she wants. And it happened just that fast, during all my days full of the "usual." I don't feel like I missed anything, heck, I have been with her all but a few hours since she was born. Yet, I am flabbergasted at the rushing currents of time. She'll never be that snuggly, mushy, new baby again, with those teeny-tiny fingers and eyes that just don't stay open for long.
#1 will be a teenager next year, #4 starts kindergarten next year, #5 will head to pre-K. Time to put down the laundry basket and pay attention, because it'll be over before I know it and the treadmill of "other stuff" will still be there waiting.
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