It's All a Matter of Time
"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." --Annie Dillard
Grant, who is a new father himself, wonders about the percentage of my time working versus the percentage of my time spent mothering (or "mommying" as he wrote). While I'm not going to give him the requested chi square (which I learned tonight rhymes with pi, not me, which should also give you an idea of how well I understand what it is; I read a definition of it--"Chi square is a non-parametric test of statistical significance for bivariate tabular analysis"--and I still don't know what it is), it is something I think about.
Two days a week, Doodles goes to day care. The day care day runs from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., however, I can't remember the last time we got there before 8:30 a.m. We leave the house around 8:15, walk to day care, and then I get him settled in (make his bed, put away his bottles and food, fill out the daily sheet). I play with him for a few minutes and then turn him over to the teachers, who jump right in to distract Doodles, as he's been having some serious separation anxiety. I then tend to wait in the hall until the crying subsides. I'm happy to say, it's never more than a minute and a half. Finally, I walk home. So right there, my day never starts very early.
In theory, these are my days to work. Work means reading books for review, writing reviews (I tend to always have a book review in the works), working on the occasional assignment from The Arlington Advocate, making phone calls for my volunteer work, co-editing the Arlington Family Connection newsletter, and working on my own writing.
In actuality, the first thing I do is catch up on all the e-mails I haven't answered in the past week. Often I don't get through them all. Then, frequently, I have crap to do. Little things that I wanted to get done during Doodles's nap time, but since he's been napping for a mere thirty-five or forty-five minutes at a time, I simply can't get done. Things such as calling contractors (we're hoping to do some renovations), finding Doodles a new doctor (can you believe the nerve of Harvard Healthcare? Kicking us out just because Adam graduated), rearranging cabinets so the cleaning products are out of Doodles's new, mobile, all-reaching grasp. Tiny, little things that just suck up time.
I do manage to get the majority of work done on those two days. I'd say I get a solid four or five hours of work done before I have to walk down to pick Doodles up. And on the days when it's just me and Doodles, I generally resign myself to not getting any substantial work done. I can read the books I'm reviewing during his nap time, but it's generally not long enough to sink into any writing. I'm sure if I were more dedicated, I would take those small snatches of time and make masterpieces. But I don't.
So what happens is I spend my nights staying up late finishing books and writing (and blogging, for that matter). But the actual question was about the percentage of my time working versus the percentage of my time spent mothering. This is a trick question. Because, really, I spend 100 percent of my time mothering. Whether I'm with Doodles or not, everything I do is about him (including working, which is a sanity saver). And I'd say I spend about 15 percent of my time working.
Sometimes I think I'd like to be doing more work. I haven't been actively seeking work--and I've been turning some down--because it's difficult making time for it. Other times I think I should do less work, and spend more hands-on time with Doodles. This compromise, though, works for both of us. Despite the minor separation anxiety, Doodles appears to have a great time at day care. Whenever I go to pick him up, he's happily enmeshed in some toy or poking at one of the other children. He's a little poker. And I'm keeping my clips current and having a bit of intellectual stimulation in between Ben Rudnick songs, diaper changes, and playgroups.
Grant, who is a new father himself, wonders about the percentage of my time working versus the percentage of my time spent mothering (or "mommying" as he wrote). While I'm not going to give him the requested chi square (which I learned tonight rhymes with pi, not me, which should also give you an idea of how well I understand what it is; I read a definition of it--"Chi square is a non-parametric test of statistical significance for bivariate tabular analysis"--and I still don't know what it is), it is something I think about.
Two days a week, Doodles goes to day care. The day care day runs from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., however, I can't remember the last time we got there before 8:30 a.m. We leave the house around 8:15, walk to day care, and then I get him settled in (make his bed, put away his bottles and food, fill out the daily sheet). I play with him for a few minutes and then turn him over to the teachers, who jump right in to distract Doodles, as he's been having some serious separation anxiety. I then tend to wait in the hall until the crying subsides. I'm happy to say, it's never more than a minute and a half. Finally, I walk home. So right there, my day never starts very early.
In theory, these are my days to work. Work means reading books for review, writing reviews (I tend to always have a book review in the works), working on the occasional assignment from The Arlington Advocate, making phone calls for my volunteer work, co-editing the Arlington Family Connection newsletter, and working on my own writing.
In actuality, the first thing I do is catch up on all the e-mails I haven't answered in the past week. Often I don't get through them all. Then, frequently, I have crap to do. Little things that I wanted to get done during Doodles's nap time, but since he's been napping for a mere thirty-five or forty-five minutes at a time, I simply can't get done. Things such as calling contractors (we're hoping to do some renovations), finding Doodles a new doctor (can you believe the nerve of Harvard Healthcare? Kicking us out just because Adam graduated), rearranging cabinets so the cleaning products are out of Doodles's new, mobile, all-reaching grasp. Tiny, little things that just suck up time.
I do manage to get the majority of work done on those two days. I'd say I get a solid four or five hours of work done before I have to walk down to pick Doodles up. And on the days when it's just me and Doodles, I generally resign myself to not getting any substantial work done. I can read the books I'm reviewing during his nap time, but it's generally not long enough to sink into any writing. I'm sure if I were more dedicated, I would take those small snatches of time and make masterpieces. But I don't.
So what happens is I spend my nights staying up late finishing books and writing (and blogging, for that matter). But the actual question was about the percentage of my time working versus the percentage of my time spent mothering. This is a trick question. Because, really, I spend 100 percent of my time mothering. Whether I'm with Doodles or not, everything I do is about him (including working, which is a sanity saver). And I'd say I spend about 15 percent of my time working.
Sometimes I think I'd like to be doing more work. I haven't been actively seeking work--and I've been turning some down--because it's difficult making time for it. Other times I think I should do less work, and spend more hands-on time with Doodles. This compromise, though, works for both of us. Despite the minor separation anxiety, Doodles appears to have a great time at day care. Whenever I go to pick him up, he's happily enmeshed in some toy or poking at one of the other children. He's a little poker. And I'm keeping my clips current and having a bit of intellectual stimulation in between Ben Rudnick songs, diaper changes, and playgroups.
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