I need a 27-hour day, please


There just aren’t enough hours in the day. I’ve been so overwhelmed, in fact, that I am just now sitting down to pen this column, less than twenty hours before my deadline. Even my yoga class couldn’t settle me entirely. If you have kids, I’m sure you’ll relate.

For starters, I’m trying to manage four children in four different athletic programs. Not surprisingly, none of them wanted to do the same thing, darn it, so my husband and I must hold morning briefings over who has to be where and when. It’s become sort of a sick logic problem: If Geoffrey has to be in Noblesville for indoor soccer practice and Andrew has a swim meet at Purdue, how will Corinne get to her volleyball game in Lawrence by five so that Maddie isn’t late for basketball in Carmel?

And of course, when our kids decide they’d also like to try art club, French club, the Green Team environment club, winter track prep, saxophone and dance (“If I’m going to be on Broadway, mother, I simply must take ballet, tap and jazz!”), what do we do? Well, just what you’d expect from parents who clearly have issues saying “no.” We sign the permission slip, pay the fees, and add six more events to the calendar.

If simultaneous on-time arrival at various parts of the state wasn’t challenging enough, I’ve thrown in my own ball of crazy. In addition to the aforementioned yoga and my day-job, I thought it’d be fun to coach, volunteer at a food pantry and make some extra cash by tutoring. (The book sales just aren’t cutting it, and I still have my heart set on these fabulous black riding boots!) And Doo has his own hands full with work, the house, and our new puppy. He also thought now to be the perfect time to quit smoking. [Pause for dramatic effect.] Exactly.

I know, I know. We made our king-sized bed, now we must lie in it. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I really am going to lose my mind. That or develop severe lower back issues from the amount of time spent in my dilapidated mini-van. Even my phone has decided to throw in the towel, having determined yesterday that desperate texting to organize last-minute carpooling was just too much trouble, thank you very much.

At least I can wallow in self-pity and know that some of you will empathize, even while judging me. Parenting is tough, and schlepping kids around town is exhausting, but I’m certain we’d regret not helping our children explore their interests when possible. So we’ll suck it up, invest in Doan’s, and pray that three hours miraculously get added to each day. Peace out.

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