Mind Your Own Busy-ness

I sat down to write this several times, but something dragged me away.  Someone’s lost cleats, a favorite shirt that went MIA (missing in action for those of you that don’t know military lingo or play Call of Duty).  Of course, my son had multiple clean shirts to choose from but ‘needed’ this particular one. Finding a pair of something, such as cleats, requires locating 2 things, which are almost never in the same place.

Once the lost was found, I sat down and started to try to get a train of thought, which had been earlier de-railed, back on track.  (Sorry for all the puns, just getting warmed up again.) I noticed my To Do list that was sitting next to my computer. It should have been subtitled ‘To Dream the Impossible Dream.’ There were multiple cleaning projects, phone calls to make, appointments to set, errands to run, tax paperwork… My train of thought once again jumped the tracks.

I needed to get some of those things done.  And supper started, so it would bake while I was writing.  I am the consummate multi-tasker.  Of course, homework questions, phone minute questions, spirit day costume accessorizing all were apparently more important. When I finally reached the limit of my multi-tasking, or as Microsoft puts it, ‘too many windows were open’, I called a timeout.  I told the needy members of my household that I was too busy. I needed to be uninterrupted while trying to write.  I don’t think boys hear the prefixes of words.  The un- in uninterrupted must have been missed because the petitions for help and attention kept coming.

My better nature was starting to falter, as my mental list was growing even bigger than the previously written one. I thought I was off the hook for at least one son when he announced that his homework was done.  With a quick ‘good’, I didn’t miss a keystroke or even look up.  Then, he asked if I would like to play a game of UNO with him. My shoulders dropped.  I realized he was choosing time with me over his IPod, computer, and TV.   I turned and said, “Prepare to get beat.”

We were playing with mock competitiveness and having a crazy time.  Another son came into the kitchen and says, as he looks at an empty oven and stove top, “What’s for supper?”  I replied that I really didn’t know but something would come to me.

Supper was simple that night, something that I prepped in 15 minutes or less.   Something that allowed us to eat and clean up quickly, to get back to that game.

Now, what was it I was going to write about? Oh, yeah, being too busy.


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