Life, Lived and Loved

I work so much better under pressure. My brain, my energy level...everything. Give me a deadline and I shift into gear. It's not like I'm proud of this because, in all honesty, it's merely a by-product of procrastination. On the other hand, I developed this skill as a coping mechanism when I was a full-time working mom. (A redundancy if I've ever heard one - what mom isn't working full-time? But I mean outside the home and not with a hedge clipper.)

Back then, I was up to my eyeballs in stress, work, deadlines and what felt like hundreds of children. It was only three, give or take 97. I got things done by making mental lists. Lists that grew by the minute. Lists written on receipts and paycheck stubs and sometimes on the back of my hand. The lists could all be titled: "Things I Need to Do So the World (OK, my world) Doesn't Fall Apart." There were moments during my gig as a FTWM (see above), when I felt responsible for the world. I felt like so many people were depending on me and, failure was not an option. Of course I failed every day in so many ways, but I tried to make my failures small and unnoticeable: A toddler shirt for picture day that wasn't really washed...just aired out and pressed...under a heavy book. A snack for the class that was questionably healthy and definitely not homemade. A birthday card sent to a relative a month late. (It really is the thought that counts, right?)

It was also during my tenure as a FTWM that I became obsessed with worrying about what everybody thought. Would school notice that I rarely, if ever, volunteered? Would the kids notice that I'm too tired to read them a story at bedtime so I'm skipping pages? (Oh, stop. You TOO have done this at least once.) Will my husband notice that we haven't gone out alone or had a conversation that didn't mention the kids in 2 years? Will my boss notice that I'm thinking about how to get the laundry done tonight so that my son's basketball uniform will be clean for his game tomorrow? I cared, and yet I didn't. I knew I was doing the best I could, but when you're in that situation, you don't exactly walk around saying that out loud. Rather, you pretend like your life is a walk in the park and hope they talk about you later in hushed and adoring tones. Like the Marines, I did more before 9am than most people did in a day.

It's funny but even though my life has changed dramatically and I have the time that I used to dream about having, I still look back on those days with shock and awe. How did I do it? Would my kids be different if I had stayed home? Would my husband have been happier if I hadn't been a raving bitch at the end of every day? (Well, duh.) Would I have accomplished more in my life if I had had the time to slow down and stay home? In my case, the answer is a definite no. I needed the stress, the pressure, the deadlines, the impossible schedule to get something done.

Today, I create artificial pressure in the way of lists and appointments and social engagements. It's very pleasant and I'm sure I'm easier to live with, but I have to admit that a little part of me misses the old days. I miss not having to think about what to do on the weekends and instead figuring out what we'd have to skip. I miss the laundry baskets full of toys strewn about the living room. (No, wait, I don't miss that.) I miss the toddler bodies hanging from my neck and my hips as I tried to slip into the bathroom for five seconds. I miss the smell of my children, because they don't let me get that close to them anymore.

What is it that makes us miss the times that were the hardest of all? I think it's because when things are hectic, life is being lived to the fullest.