Scene One: I’m in the kitchen making my family’s favorite chocolate cake. My four-month-old is sitting in her stroller beside me. I finish mixing the cake and take one last look at the recipe to make sure I have included everything.
Enter nine-year-old daughter. “Mom, can I please have a friend over, Oh, please, please. Can she eat dinner with us? I haven’t had anyone over since yesterday!” Listen to daughter, plan response, anticipate reaction, smile at now fussy baby, and pop cake into oven. Mission accomplished. Five minutes later, pull cake out of oven and attempt somewhat successfully to stir in forgotten baking soda.
Scene Two: Squeeze in an errand on the way to five-year-old’s soccer practice – all four kids in tow. Take a different route to the ball field. Not sure which freeway turn-off to use coming from this direction. Radio is turned up a bit loud to satisfy budding adolescent’s tastes. My nine-year-old daughter loves music, but even more, she loves talking loudly over loud music. Continue driving through rush-hour traffic, noise buzzing in the background. Lose focus. Miss turn. Become frustrated and arrive fifteen minutes late for soccer practice.
Scene Three: Goal is to put sharp scissors into the cupboard above the microwave and checkbook back into my purse. Begin. Pick up checkbook while holding baby and listening to five-year-old say, “Aren’t we going to be late for the doctor’s office? Huh? Huh? Mom, aren’t you listening to me?” Become distracted. Lose focus. Think goal is met. Start walking out the door with my kids. Discover checkbook is missing. “Why isn’t my checkbook in my purse?” I just put it in there.” Turn to three-year-old who has been getting into everything lately. See three-year-old but no checkbook. See scissors still sitting on counter. Look above microwave. Checkbook found.
I’d like to say that these scenarios are isolated incidents, that they happen, say once a month or maybe even once a week; but the truth is, they happen more often than my kids take baths. Much more often. Mothering does this to me. These are just three of the many cases of “Constant-Interruptus” that I have experienced over the years.
Sanity-Saving Skills
I used to get really frustrated at how impossible it seemed to have a complete thought while raising my five precious interrupters, but not anymore. I love my kids and plan to raise them to adulthood, so over time, I have developed some sanity-saving coping skills.
First, I have given myself permission to ignore my children, on occasion. I don’t know where I developed the belief that I have to be fully present every minute of every day, hanging on their every word. Perhaps it’s the cumulative effect of all the parenting books I have digested over the years telling me that I don’t want to damage their self-esteem by not paying adequate (my insecure translation-almost constant) attention.
The truth is, my children will have a rude awakening if they grow up expecting others to pay complete attention to them whenever demanded. So doing myself and my children a favor, I sometimes tell them, “Hold on, I’m doing something right now that needs my full focus. Keep that thought and I will listen to you in a moment.” They learn some patience while I drive safely through traffic, successfully complete a cake, or finish a phone call.
As the family manager, I sometimes forget important information (like a phone number or a music lesson make-up date), because I didn’t write it down as soon as I received it. I used to think that I would remember the date and time for so-and-so’s follow-up dental appointment and didn’t need to write it down. But between the dentist’s office and home, I may have had five or six separate conversations with one or more of my children and can no longer remember anything except the most recent conversation. So, write it down. That’s my motto.
To do this, I carry a small, thick spiral notebook with me everywhere I go. It’s my “Brain on Paper” and works better for me than any formal planner ever has. I feel free to tailor it to my needs since it’s not fancy and comes without instructions.
On the first few pages, I keep track of things I need to do in the near future. One page is labeled “To Do’s,” another “Calls to Make”, another “Errands to Run,” and another “Writing to Do,” which includes e-mails, letters, and so on. After these first few pages, I have one page for each day in the next week. The individual pages are divided into four sections and labeled according to the categories listed above. Everything, whether it’s directions to someone’s house or books I hope to read in the future, can be found somewhere in my spiral notebook. Using this simple planner has dramatically decreased my frustration over the years.
Often I find that as soon as I commit myself to fixing dinner or paying bills, I can count on one of my kids wanting or needing my attention. This used to leave me feeling frustrated and discouraged about completing a job before I ever even started. But, over time, I’ve learned that I don’t necessarily have to stop what I’m doing to give a child the attention she needs. Sometimes, my kids simply want to be a part of what I’m doing, so I’ll invite them to share in completing the task, perhaps by measuring flour or stamping envelopes. Together, we finish the work and create some good memories.
Quiet Time
Like most mothers, my days are full of activity from start to finish. I become forgetful, frazzled and mistake-prone when I have had too little down-time to collect my thoughts and rest my spirit. For me, solitude-time is essential to maintaining balance and perspective.
I used to feel guilty about taking time out for myself, but I traded in the guilt for the conviction that happy kids are raised by happy moms. A little time alone does a lot to make me happy. I agree with Anne Morrow Lindbergh when she says that:
It is a lesson to learn today – to leave one’s friends and family and deliberately practice the art of solitude for an hour or a day or a week. And yet, once it is done, I find there is a quality to being alone that is incredibly precious. Life rushes back into the void, more vivid, fuller than before.
I don’t have a day or a week for solitude, but I have been changed by finding an hour.
Over time, I have accepted that interruptions are often just a natural part of family life and sometimes best taken in stride. More times than I care to count I have been heading out the door with just enough time to make it to an appointment when I realized that the freshly-diapered baby needed to be changed again. Becoming frustrated only made things worse.
Instead, I have learned to lighten up, to surrender to the inevitable interruptions, finding that it makes much more sense to arrive late and happy than late and grumpy.
On a recent hectic, interruptions-filled day, I read an article about a nun who lives in an adobe hut in the New Mexico desert – alone.
It sounded inviting. I wondered if she would mind a roommate. There was a time when I could have chosen a more solitary life where I would have had innumerable hours to collect my thoughts, to complete a given task – but I didn’t. I chose marriage and motherhood.
