School’s out for the summer, and for perhaps the first time in my life as a parent, my kids are old enough that—if I needed them to—they could be left to their own devices most of the time without starving, burning down the house, or tormenting one another to death. The reality is that I could continue my “regular” schedule and the kids would be able to entertain themselves while I work. I don’t have to send them to camp or schedule a babysitter. If I need to work a solid eight hours, I can do that.

What I’m discovering is that just because I can doesn’t necessarily mean I want to. In fact, this year when the “Gee, I wish I got to have the summer off” twinges of jealousy reared up, I decided to take this as an opportunity to restructure not just the kids’ summer, but mine, too. Isn’t that supposed to be the perk of working for myself? The flexibility? Being my own boss?

And I ask this in all seriousness, as I sit in our dentist’s waiting room as the kids’ get their teeth cleaned. Heh.
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Four years ago my kids and I moved to a new state, a new school district, and what often felt like an entirely new world. (That’s what we get for being a bunch of yankees in the south.) My solution to the stranger-in-a-strange-land predicament was to dive in head-first: I joined the PTA, I volunteered for committees, I did my best to get involved and be there for my kids.

The result of my gung-ho attitude is that I was a cheerful participant for most of the first year, and felt bitter and burnt out by the end of the second. Our third year brought the change of having the kids in two different schools, so my husband and I each sort of manned one school (albeit at a fairly minimal level, attending meetings and such), and this past year—the fourth one—I did nothing. Nothing. Wait, I lied; I did volunteer in my son’s class for a holiday party, and last week I chaperoned a field trip. But basically: nothing.

I work from home. My schedule is flexible. Theoretically I should be all kinds of involved with the schools because I’m potentially more available than parents with conventional jobs. So what’s the problem?
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I almost have to laugh at the things I conveniently forget even though I know better.

It’s like… childbirth, for example. Any woman who’s ever done it knows it’s excruciating. Worth it? Absolutely! But even the women who go all-natural and birth at home aren’t going to tell you that it doesn’t hurt, because it does. Still, the world is filled with women—myself among them—who voluntarily choose to go through childbirth again, ever after experiencing how traumatizing it can be. We just sort of forget. Or convince ourselves that the outcome is worth the pain. But I think our memories really do soften and fade and we convince ourselves it’s not that bad.

Kind of like how I’ll happily sit down and write out a conference primer, because, after all, I’ve been blogging professionally for half-a-dozen years, and I’ve attended a lot of conferences, and this stuff is old news to me, now, plus I tend to be extremely pragmatic so I’m good at boiling situations down to pros and cons.

I’m good at picking and choosing events to attend and events to skip. But somehow I managed to completely forget that every single time I travel for business I get sick when I come back.
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I talk a lot, here, about the challenges of fitting a career into the spaces between packing lunches and doctors’ appointments and Science Fair and such. And even then, it’s hardly like I’m exposing some heretofore unknown segment of life—anyone with kids can tell you that managing your work is a whole different ballgame once there are human beings completely dependent upon you for their care.

What I haven’t really given much thought to, in the past, is the ways in which being a mother to my particular children has actually helped my career. I’m not talking about giving me blog fodder, either (though I do appreciate that). I’m talking about concrete skills and vital lessons which I believe would’ve been harder won (or lost completely) were it not for the two smallish folks currently eating me out of house and home.

Granted, I may be a tad bit biased towards the awesomeness of these particular children, but even so, I think they’re excellent proof of the “you’re given the lessons you need” adage. I apparently needed a lot of lessons, because I’m currently parenting a nearly-teen and a Aspie. So let’s talk about what that’s taught me.
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I recently started taking yoga again, because the opportunity presented itself (the class is nearby and conveniently scheduled) and because it’s possible that I tend to be just a tiny bit high-strung (NO REALLY). I love the way yoga makes me feel, both physically and emotionally. If I’m able to just let go of everything else and enjoy it, it’s a really wonderful way to feel refreshed and centered for at least an hour.

Of course, whenever we do any poses in class that require me to balance on one foot, I try very hard to calm my mind and my body and be one with my mat and all of that, and to just stand still… but in reality I weave from side to side and my muscles shudder and twitch and my “up” foot thumps to the floor as I catch myself from falling on my face. My balance, you see, isn’t all that great. And that turns out to be a great metaphor for balance in my life, actually, because as much as I want it, the rare times I achieve it are shaky at best, and short-lived. At some point the other foot—metaphorical or real—has to hit the floor again to prevent disaster.

I suppose it’s no wonder that I gravitate towards writing and people that reiterate that work-life balance is merely a myth we all want to believe. That’s comforting, knowing I’m not the only one who just can’t seem to get it right.
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Last week I told you about my pitiful attempts to multitask while working, having one child home, another child needing forms and rides, and just generally trying to keep my house running and my clients happy. My conclusion, then, was that sometimes multitasking backfires. Sometimes trying to do everything at once means that really, at the end of the day, it feels like nothing has been done at all.

My conclusion this week—with the same work and kid needs I was fielding last week, but with a post-surgical child at home now—is that my downfall was in trying to do everything at once, rather than figuring out how to accomplish all of the same things, but perhaps in a more logical manner.

This is not to say that I’ve mastered it and we’re having totally smooth sailing this week, of course. Would that it were true, but… no. Ahem. I’m finding a few ways to maximize the tools available to me, though, and although this week is harder in some ways (um, my kid had surgery and is being kind of needy, imagine), it’s easier in others.

My inspiration came in the form of… a Sonic Cream Slush. Yes.
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Today is one of those days.

Today I have a kid home and a kid who was late getting ready for school. The kid who’s home is boooooored and I am thinking of locking my office door if I am interrupted one more time. The kid at school just called to say—of course!—that my signature is needed on some forms which I already signed but have mysteriously gone missing, so could I please just swing by to sign a new set, pretty please?

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, which meant that I saw my husband briefly as I got home from that and he left for work. (Thank goodness he was able to stay home with the kid while I went, at least.) The kid who’s home has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, after which we will likely have to run over to the hospital for some additional diagnostics, which means I already know my afternoon is toast.

There’s a stack of work on my desk right next to today’s “To Do” list, which has seventeen items on it. So far I’ve completed… two of them. It’s past lunchtime and I just got around to having breakfast.

Some days my flexible schedule feels like it’s trying to strangle me.
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I have a few writer friends who regularly go on writing retreats. They buddy up with other writers and go somewhere that is, ideally, both beautiful and secluded, and they take the time to just ignore everything else and write.

Granted, most of my friends who do this are novelists. I am not a novelist. But I’m finding the idea more and more appealing, nonetheless.

What would I do? How would I do it? What might happen if I spent two or three or even seven days with no responsibilities other than to just… write?

It feels decadent even to consider this. I have responsibilities! Regular gigs, kids, a house to maintain, a dog to feed! How could I leave it all and just focus on a single thing? How could that be something that helps me in pursuit of the elusive, mystical “balance” I’m always seeking?

I’m not sure, but more and more, I’m thinking I might want to find out.
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Before I get started on what I really want to talk about today, here’s our book winner from last week: The random number generator selected commenter number 2, Shannon. Congratulations, Shannon! Please check your email.

But what I want to say is this: My last nerve is fraying. I’m overwhelmed. I’m behind on work and my house is a mess. I lay awake at night indulging my every paranoid fantasy about everything that can possibly go wrong, and then I get up in the morning and drink too much coffee and am short-tempered with my family and late and sloppy with my work.

I need a week off. I can’t have a week off.

And so I’ve gone from doing the juggle to merely cleaning up whatever has made the biggest mess on the floor when I dropped it. It’s not a very good way to live. And it’s a terrible way to run a business. I know it’s not going to work forever.

But this is where I am right now. It sucks, on all fronts.
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I’m feeling a little bit like my Supermom powers are on the fritz. And the sad thing is that it happens every year around this time, like clockwork. Yet I’m always surprised.

It goes a little something like this: Thanksgiving arrives, and with it, my busiest month of the year. I kick it all off with a 16-hour day of work on Black Friday and then basically work every minute I possibly can for the next three to four weeks. In the meantime, the children have upcoming school project deadlines, band concerts, and fundraiser orders to distribute, there are holiday plans to make, someone falls seriously ill, and (almost always) someone has a big meltdown from the stress. (Hey, it’s not always me.) (Okay, it’s usually me.)

But every year, I think it’s going to be different. Every year I’m sure we’ve got a handle on everything and it’s going to be fine. This year, in fact, Thanksgiving Break was as close to idyllic as I think it’s ever gotten; we hung out at home, relaxed, and unwound. Everyone was feeling refreshed. And maybe that’s why this week has hit us like a ton of bricks.
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