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Bobbe White
On the outside, I would appear to be organized, efficient, a really "together gal." Now this may come as a shock, but I fool a lot of people on a daily basis. The truth is, I more resemble a double-jointed octopus in splints than an organized woman trying to get to work on time. Eight things going on around me all at once is my norm. I call it "multi-tasking." They created this term for people like me. My family calls it un-focused. I'm busy, from dawn to dusk, exhausted at days end. I fall asleep sitting straight up while playing Junior Scattegories with my children…"MOM! Wake up! Pick a letter, it's your turn!" Yet, with all the flurry of my activity, I have crossed not one item off my "To do" list today.
Do I dare share the disarray of my day? Well, hold on to your hat…it's a wild ride around this "White House!" I get up at 5:00 a.m. to check email, pay bills, balance the checkbook, etc. Surprisingly, many days, I don't even reach the shower until 7:40a.m. And I still make it to work by 8:07 (and that's a.m. too.) The scary thing is, I look EXACTLY the same with five minutes of preparation as I do with 50.This could be one of Murphy's laws…"The more time spent on beauty preparation, is in direct reverse proportion to the end result." I hate Murphy. I should be thankful that it doesn't matter, but it doesn't say much for my efforts. So ladies rejoice! Take an extra few minutes to drink your coffee, polish your nails or watch Matt Lauer in the a.m. Trust me. It just doesn't matter.
We call it "crunch time" at our house. That
horrible window of departure when you realize that:
a) Sam, the beagle, needs to be corralled and kenneled.
b) Lunches aren't made.
c) Math homework is lost.
d) Permission slip for today's field trip needs to be signed.
e) Book fair money is due yesterday.
f) My pumps don't match. Bummer.
Oh well, as long as I don't run into my father today, the retired shoe-man,
my shoes are okay. The lunch I can make at the bus stop. I have a slice
of cheese in my brief case. A quick all-out search, trash and recycle
bin included, turns up the homework. My daughter can forge my signature,
with my blessing this time, on the field trip form. Here's my VISA card
for the book fair. Bring me the receipts, all of them. Just read me
the story you bought and tuck the VISA card under my pillow when you're
done.
