Tag: time management

936 and Counting

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 8 Comments

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATime flies. We all know this. The only case where time does NOT fly is instances like when you’re stuck in a boring workshop where they have the thermostat set so cold it just may crack off a body part and all you can think about is lunch. Then it’s slow. But typically, another week comes and goes and it feels like a blip on the radar.

Recently, I had a 1-2 punch that was the kind of coincidence that makes me stop and think. I saw a framed graphic at a family member’s house that said something along the lines of “940. The number of Saturdays until your child reaches 18.” Me being me, I checked the math (52×18=936) and wondered why they added the extra month. Googling it, 940 is the number used again and again, but I like the number 936 better than 940 anyway, so I’m sticking with that. (Why the extra four? Can you guess?)

The very next day I was speaking to a friend, and she said her pastor’s message that Sunday was on pretty much the exact same thing. He had a jar of marbles that visually represented how many weeks were left before his daughter turned 18. The emphasis being, of course, that we use our time together wisely. It is fleeting.

So there I was, with two totally different avenues leading me to the same wakeup call: we only have so much time with our children before they are off and running in the world.

Of course, I know this. But when you put a finite number around it, it drives it home even further. Tick…tock…and another week is gone. Another marble leaves the jar.

I have issues with time management. I just do. I aspire to knock the hell out of each day, and before I know it, I’m brushing my teeth before bed.

But the clock of life is wound but once…

My son had his feet resting on my lap the other day, and…they were huge. What happened to the teeny ones that I nibbled on and made him giggle?

He was just sharing with me his fascination with the circulatory system that he’s learning about in science class. Only yesterday he was learning the alphabet.

I tell him—like my dad always told me—there will always be room on my lap for him. But the last time he tried it, we laughed together at how comical we must have looked.

936.

If my math is right, we’ve had 541 Saturdays together…and only 395 left before he turns 18.

395. 3-9-5. Holy crimony.

Thankfully, I am wise enough to know that these days do not need to be chock full and supercharged to be meaningful. I think back to my own childhood, and I realize that while there are some “big” memories of trips and special events—the real things that stick are the small things. The moments. It didn’t have to be anything special—just a time where I felt that I mattered. I don’t even think those thoughts typically cross our minds when they are happening—it’s like they just go into a special reservoir of love, where for some reason, we feel it and cherish it.

So, before I “lose my marbles” with my son, I need to remind myself that the moments count. That just because we may not be able to carve out the better part of a day to do something significant, I can still get out and play touch football with him and his dad.

I can genuinely listen to him catch me up on the first part of the “Full House” episode that I am sitting down to watch the rest of with him.

I can make time for a bike ride on a beautiful fall day, even if deadlines are looming.

I can share in his joy at the occasional 49¢ McDonald’s ice cream cone.

While we still do need to hit the “big” things and make those memories, it’s important to remind myself in the swirl of the day that not all is lost as long as we remember the moments, too.

Because that is what he will remember. The moments.

936 down to 395.

It’s not about us putting more stress on ourselves because who needs more of that? What it is about is keeping the perspective that we do have a finite time with our children, and it does matter—to them and to us—and it is all a blessing of unknown impact and meaning.

So amidst the flurry and chaos of everyday life, I’m going to strive to remember to jump in the leaves. Even if it means we have to rake them all over again.

Some Days a Trance, Some Days a Ballet

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

balletTime is one elusive commodity, isn’t it? Every day I aspire to make the best use of it because I hate the thought of days just disappearing…but they do…day after day after day. To help me with my time, I make lists. They help me to aim, focus, and shoot, as well as be able to look at my day and help me see what I actually did.

Historically, I am such a list-maker that my husband jokingly gave me the Native American name of Stands With A List (this will only make you smile if you are a Dances with Wolves fan). But lately even my lists seem problematic. They don’t even begin to reflect my real daily rundown.

In this stage of my life, I feel like all too often I am busy all day, but when the day is over I think, “What exactly did I accomplish?” The reality of one day blurring into the next is something I can’t seem to shake. Working primarily from home only exacerbates the problem—all of the roles I play converge into one.

I can categorize many of my days into “trances” or “ballets.” Both are days of fluid movement…waking to emails, work, taking care of the kid, laundry, caregiving to my mom, work, calls, errands, caregiving, work, groceries…you get the idea. The only real distinction between the two is whether or not I am fully “awake.”

Trance days have me doing something like folding laundry in the afternoon thinking, “It’s 3:00?!?! How did that happen? I haven’t stopped once today, but I can’t remember a thing I’ve done.” These days are almost like a zombiewalk—I am an automaton going through the mundane motions of daily life.

A ballet day, on the other hand, can have the exact same itinerary, but instead I am folding that same damn laundry thinking, “Okay, so I’ve done A, B, and C, and I’m ready to hit D, E, and F.” I glide through my ToDos feeling like I’m making progress. I jeté from one task to the next. (Yes, jeté…that’s right. Remember? I’m using a ballet metaphor. Stick with me.)

Lately, though, the trance days are slaughtering the ballet days, and I don’t know why. It does not thrill me to spend time in Zombieland. Unfortunately, it appears I’m unable to will myself into a daily performance of Swan Lake. I’ve tried when I feel the trance upon me, but it’s not a flippable switch. Perhaps a local meth dealer can help spur me on to greater heights. If it wasn’t for the ratty teeth aspect, I just might consider it.

Can you tell what kind of a day I’m having? That’s right—I’m stuck in a trance. If I wasn’t, I would know how to wrap this post up in a way that might offer a ray of hope or two. Instead I’ll just offer up the old mantra of “this, too, shall pass.” The only problem is, the “this” is another day, and I don’t know how many of them I have left to pass. Geez, Debbie Downer, hands off the keyboard. Let’s leave you for Scarlett O’Hara and remember that “tomorrow is another day.” (Debbie wants to add on “or is it??”)

So tell me…am I all on my own in this, or is this something to which you can relate?

Cooling the Core

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments
And...inhale...
And…inhale…

I’m on vacation, but it’s Monday, and holy mother of pearl, I am keeping my 41-week streak (?!) of writing The Juggle Struggle going. Because that’s how I roll.

Yes…I am blessed to be on vacation. And that got me thinking about the value of being able to escape for a bit.

Much of the country has been dealing with heat waves this summer, and that means cities open cooling centers. These cooling centers are more than just a chance to give a brief respite from the heat—they can actually help a person without other decent ways to cool off lower their core temp and be better able to sustain heat later. Cooling your core can be the difference between life and death.

This vacation is my chance to “cool my core,” as well. Not because we escaped Chicago’s heat wave (though there was a 40-degree temperature swing from the day we left to our first evening away), but another “core”—my life core.

This year has been one crazy curve ball after another. Serious, life-changing curve balls. In February, I wrote about already wanting a 2013 do-over, but it only got harder from there. Without singing the story of my woes, let’s just say that 2013 can go suck it and suck it hard. The overall stress level has risen immensely when it wasn’t exactly low to begin with.

Let me take a moment to say that I know so many people who are also struggling with major life challenges. This is not a story unique to me, by no means, and I am well aware of that. My prayer list for those I love and care for is ridiculously long. So please know that this is not a whine fest (though if it was a wine fest, I would totally be participating.)

Okay, so back to my point before you were sighing and thinking I was simply going to moan and wail. Really. Don’t you know me at all?

Here I am on vacation. A vacation that is allowing me to take a break from life’s daily challenges and issues and recharge my batteries. And thinking about the whole “core cooling” idea, I realize that this time away not only serves me right here and now, but will also let me “sustain heat later.”

This chance to step out of my reality and do crazy things like just be instead of doing/solving/serving/going all the time will equip me to step back into reality and sustain life’s “heat” for a good while longer.

It is truly a blessing, for I know many people are unable to take a vacation for one reason or another, and it is often the very people who need it the most. I am indeed incredibly fortunate to be able to hang my gone fishin’ sign.

And so I will take the job of cooling my core here very seriously. A key element is to remind myself in the moment how awesome it is that I can take some time to hang with my family, read, relax, and just absorb the surrounding beauty. My biggest challenge of the day will be figuring out if I want to play tennis, go for a bike ride, or try to retain my crown of catching the most fish each year. Tough choices, no?

And when I get back home, I will strive to take some time each day to do some mini “core cooling,” and not let the day swarm over me like angry bees. (This, of course, just made me think about the movie Killer Bees from my childhood that totally creeped me out and fueled my bee phobia. Sorry about that. I should have used another simile. My bad.)

But hopefully my point is made decently enough to make sense: Taking a time-out—whether it is a huge one like a vacation or a tiny one like a cat nap—can serve us well beyond the moment. And now I intend to do some serious core cooling and curl up with a good book. Lucky me.

I Am Not a Tigger

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 10 Comments

I bounce a lot. But unlike Tigger, it is not a source of joy and exuberance but one of increasing insanity.

Years ago, I used to point out to my husband that women were much better multi-taskers than men. Not only did he not appreciate my air of superiority, he also believed multi-tasking to be the devil. What?! Well, it turns out that my husband was on the cutting edge of being a know-it-all. Studies now show that multi-tasking is actually counterproductive. And at this point in my life, I absolutely agree. There’s just one problem: my brain bounces whether I want it to or not.

I suspect I am not alone.

tabs open

I work a flex schedule, and it is a blessing in many ways. It allows me to work at my job, take care of our home and kid, as well as be an on-call daughter to an aging mother. (Disclaimer: I am NOT implying that someone who has a full-time-at-the-office job cannot do these things. Relax. I’m merely pointing out that, for me, flex time enables me to, well, have a FLEXIBLE SCHEDULE.) But a flex schedule also enables bouncing, bouncing, bouncing.

I feel like I’m in a pinball machine, only Pinball Wizard I am not. Bouncing is wearing me down and adding to my crazy. Maybe at this point you’re asking, “What the heck is she talking about??” By bouncing I mean that I as I plan my day with the highest of hopes, the result is that I have worked all day but don’t really know what I’ve accomplished.

For example, as I have sat down to write this post, I have stopped to make three doctors calls, update my calendar, remembered to pay some bills, put another load of laundry in, let the dogs out, tried to figure out what’s for dinner, open the mail (from Saturday. Saturday’s bouncing did not include mail opening, apparently), and written 17 notes to myself (give or take). And this is just the bouncing I remember.

Unlike the “real” Tigger, my Tigger looks and feels like a chewed up dog toy.
Unlike the “real” Tigger, my Tigger looks and feels like a chewed up dog toy.

Yes, I know I should shut out distractions. But easier said than done. I love when I “get in the zone,” but the older I get, the rarer it seems. I think the focusing part of my brain is atrophying. I need a personal trainer to work away the flab. “Give me 20 more deep thoughts! Come on! You can do it! Focus! Focus! Focus!”

I’m not sure how to get out of my bounce-a-lot world, but I do know it’s in my best interest. Though maybe bouncing will be a good attribute when I finally make it to my padded room. Either that, or I have to buy a rubber suit so that as I bounce away, I’m at least getting better spring action.

How Did Our Parents Do It?

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ Leave a comment

While the refrain, “When I was your age…” makes for eye rolls in kids, I must admit I am guilty of uttering it numerous times to my son. Yes, the rose-colored glasses of reflection make for softer edges around what once was, but…times are indeed different. And on the flip side of what was different when I was a kid for kids themselves, I think about what was different for the parents. After nights where my husband and I are finally done with our Have Tos around 10pm (to then finally sit and check email), we ask ourselves…how did our parents do it?

I don’t know about you, but I never remember my mom or dad consumed with ToDos like I am. Let me adjust my rose-colored glasses for a moment, but here’s what I recall of an average night when I was a kid: My dad came home and read the paper a bit while my mom finished getting dinner ready. We ate a leisurely dinner at the kitchen table. My sister and I took care of the kitchen while my mom and dad went to the family room…maybe they worked crossword puzzles, maybe they finished reading the paper, and—of course—there was the TV to enjoy. End of scene.

Yes, the nights where I had a softball or basketball game meant the leisurely dinner didn’t happen, so we did indeed juggle that in some way. And my kid isn’t old enough to do the dishes yet (and have them actually be clean), so there’s that to look forward to. And my mom was a stay-at-home mom, so I’m sure that helped, too. One thing I recall, though, is that we kids weren’t in several activities at once…it was almost always one thing at a time, until I was in high school. Today it seems like parents need a flow chart to route their kids to their next activities accordingly. So…I ask…what are we doing to ourselves? Is our push to give our kids “everything” really in their best interest? In ours?

And then I think of all the things that have since been created to make things happen “faster” or “better.” My mom never needed to bother with email, and she certainly didn’t feel the need to clear her Google Reader. My dad came home from work at 5pm. And he was HOME. He didn’t get work emails or texts. While work may have been on his mind, it wasn’t gobbling up his home time. The lines of distinction were much clearer. Now…everything is a blur. Thanks to technology, we may be freer to be more mobile, but we are also expected to be “available” at all hours. And I am guilty of feeding right into it all…getting screen sucked from one thing to another. I fear it is a black hole of “progress.”

There is no turning back, I know. But my desire to better balance life’s tugs is ongoing. I’m not ready to throw in the towel. And even if I did, I’d just get a late-night Google Calendar reminder that it was time to do the laundry anyway.