Seriously, where does the time go?
When I go to work, the days can drag and 8 hours can feel like an eternity.
From the time I clock in to the time I get to clock out, they are the longest 8 hours of my life.
When I get home, the last 5 or 6 hours of the day seem to just fly by. I don’t have enough time to do all of the things that my mind tells me I need to get done. I rarely get to sit down, and before I know it, I’ve run out of time to do anything that I actually want to do for “me time”.
I could stay up a little bit longer, but I’m so tired. So, so tired.
The bed is calling my name.
My sweet, soft pillow is so sweet. And so soft.
Netflix whispering in my ear “You NEED me”.
If I can stay awake long enough to delve into a selfish distraction…before I know it, a good 2 or 3 hours of “personal interest time to myself” has passed and I’m concerned that I won’t be able to wake up the next morning.
Why does the “Me Time” go by so fast?
Then the guilt about taking that time to frolic in my selfish distraction seeps in. I end up worrying about staying up later than I should have, knowing it’s going to create problems for me tomorrow, causing it to take longer to fall asleep.
When I wake up the next day, after hitting snooze 5 times, I am a sloth. More and more stressful situations proceed to happen due to me waking up late, due to me being selfish, and my day becomes a disaster.
Sleep goes by even faster than the “Me Time” does.
My little baby boy will turn 15 this year, but it seems like it was just last week he was placed in my arms, covered in slippery white goo and my own blood.
Where did that time go?
My son’s life just flew by me. BAM! Your baby boy now towers over you, has facial hair, and is ashamed to hold your hand.
He used to want to be with me. At bedtime we would watch his favorite movie, “Cars”, and he would fall asleep while I held him. Then I would carry him to his bed.
Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night to come and sleep in my bed. He WANTED to be with me and he wouldn’t have it any other way. I would hold him and he’d fall back to sleep. I loved that….until his legs grew and he started to sleep like a starfish.
Now I can’t even get him to sit next to me for 5 minutes.
He used to like to hug and kiss me.
He used to tell me he loved me.
Now I have to force both of his arms around me for a hug, otherwise I get an “acquaintance” hug. One of those one arm/shoulder over one of my arms, just the one side of your body, type of fake affection that I despise getting from my child.
I require real hugs from the people I gave life to and then kept alive every year since.
He won’t kiss me any more, not even on the cheek. But I make sure to kiss his cheek, forehead, top of head (“you could use a shower, you smell like sour milk”), etc.
I tell him I love him all the time.
His reply, “You too”.
I can really feel the love in those two very small words….I have to, it apparently causes him physical pain to add the words “I love” to that minuscule sentence.
Why is my baby boy a young man?
Why does my baby boy sound like a man?
Why am I able to place my head on his shoulder when I hug him?
I used to carry that young man in my arms.
I would love to go back to the time when my son was shorter than I was, back to before I finally realized that the love he was so willing to give wasn’t going to last. I would take advantage of that love that I once took for granted, and give him more of my attention.
My memories of my son as a young boy are fading, he is constantly asking me “Do you remember (enter a funny story)”. And my answer is usually “No”. I’m forgetting the funny things that he did, the cute stories of childhood. The memories we made, quickly disappearing from my mind.
It makes me sad when I tell him I don’t remember. Thank God I have photos.
I used to remember things. I used to remember lists, names, phone numbers, reasons for going into a room.
Now I walk into a room, for what seems like no reason at all, with the slightest inkling that I came in here for something.
I then have to retrace my steps like some criminal detective trying to solve some deep mystery.
My stories are short, because I can’t remember that funny thing my daughter said or hilarious story my son told me.
What was it I needed from the grocery store?
Where did I put my keys?
Why am I the only one in my kid’s school drop off line? Is there no school today?
Where does the year go?
We just celebrated the holidays. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. Now March is almost over. 9 more months and we’ll be stressing about our weight, gifts, parties, and keeping resolutions all over again.
I better start shopping now because I hate being in the big stores with the huge crowds, fighting over the hottest toys and standing in the longest checkout lines for hours.
I’m always the person who gets into a checkout line when something goes wrong ahead at the register.
“Isn’t this on sale?”
That time we spend in those lines seems to go by at an intensely slow pace.
But, when the time does comes and the presents need to be purchased, I’ll probably procrastinate again and end up in the angry crowds and waiting in the long lines.
Amazon Prime saves lives.
The holidays go by so fast.
I can hardly remember my childhood.
I only have slight glimpses of a few of those memories, the horrible ones seem to be more clear, but there are a few good times in there too.
I do have some extremely nostalgic memories of the holidays, and I can realize now why the Christmas season is my favorite time of year as an adult.
The memories of going to pick out a tree and unpacking the handmade ornaments to hang on it. Putting the decorations up around the living room.
We could open one gift on Christmas Eve, but we had to wait for mom to come home from work.
I would stare at the presents, trying to pick out the best one, usually the biggest was the best, and as soon as my mom walked through the door I would beg her to allow me this one simple pleasure.
I would always open the stupidest gift, usually from Grandma Bonnie who would hand crochet all of her gifts and pack them in large boxes.
I understand now, how precious hand made gifts are, but back then opening hand made slippers that you could fit on your feet backwards and they still had room for more foot, was not exciting.
Grandma Bonnie has always been an odd gift giver.
The excitement of waking up Christmas morning and finally getting to open and play with our presents. Tearing through them all at lightning speed. All the wrapping paper everywhere. Good times.
Now, I wonder if I’m taking the time to make those memories with my own children.
When I was a kid, after waiting for ages to be able to open up all those presents, and then it was all of a sudden over. All the presents opened, Christmas was done and the next day came. It felt like It would take sooooo long to come back around again.
As a child, my birthday felt like it was every three years instead of every 12 months.
Now I’m going to be 38.
Where did that time go?
How am I almost 40?
I used to want my birthday to come, now I dread it. I could really care less that I’m turning another year older. I feel like I’m living in dog years now, every year is actually 7.
My kid’s birthdays are what’s important to me now, and they come at me with extraordinary speed.
Before I realize it, I have forgotten to plan an appropriate and exciting party to celebrate my children. I end up throwing together a quick party at the last minute.
For some reason we celebrate the children my hard work brought into this world; growing them in my body, keeping them alive and relatively happy since the day God blessed me with them.
It should be a celebration of the mother’s accomplishment of creating life. I should be worshipped and allowed to sit on the couch and do nothing all day.
My kids just keep getting bigger, taller, requiring more expensive gifts, their vocabulary growing in amusing ways, talking back and whining constantly, making me reminisce in the babies they used to be.
My daughter will be 6 in 7 short months.
I feel like I just brought her home from the hospital yesterday. Holding that precious little helpless child, who I didn’t have to chase around the house to get dressed in the morning, still a very fresh memory in my mind.
She’s going to start kindergarten in August. Pretty soon she’ll be ignoring me, rejecting my kisses, and giving me one armed shoulder hugs, just like my son does.
I can feel the dramatic “I hate you!” door slamming; because I won’t let her wear that outfit out of this house, I won’t allow her wear her make-up like that, or because I won’t buy her that mini skirt that Felicia’s parents bought her.
It’s coming, just around the proverbial corner.
Right now she wants me to hold her, almost to the excessive point of driving me crazy. She loves physical contact. She wants me to hold her hand. At bedtime, she falls asleep on me while we watch her favorite movie of that day. She loves to give me hugs and won’t let me leave without a kiss and “I love you”.
Because of what I experienced with my 14 year old son, growing up too dang fast, I soak up anything my daughter will give me.
Why is the now going by so quickly?
Did it do that to my parents?
And why does my time at work go by so slowly?
My days off seem to whiz by, I just need one more day to complete the things on “My List” that I wanted or needed to get done.
I always tell myself, whether I have a weekend, a week, or two weeks off, I just need one more day…
If I got that extra day, and I accomplished whatever tasks I had to do, there would still be tasks that could be done the next.
It seems that “MyList” is getting longer and the days are getting shorter.
When I plan a day of retail therapy (usually at Goodwill or other second hand stores, because that’s all my wallet can handle) the amount of time I spend in my car seems to become the majority of my day.
I leave my house, hoping to spend some time doing a little bit of impulse buying of knick-knacks I don’t really need. But find myself feeling as if the whole day was spent trying to get to and from the shops. Then I feel as if the rest of my day to relax is ruined.
Now that I’m home with all my goods, I have to use my time to de-tag, unwrap, wash, and put away my purchases.
A whole day off, wasted, on what felt like a day in my car. The I’m left doing chores, cleaning and putting away my purchases, for which I wanted to get away from in the first place.
All of this technology we currently have is supposed to make our lives easier and give us more time to do things.
Does the technology help?
Or does it make life harder by giving us more things to do?
Would I be checking off a task on “My List” if I wasn’t writing this?
Or would I be wallowing in sorrow, being unable to express myself by writing?
Would I feel alone in my concerns, being unable to read other’s stories?
Would someone else feel more alone, unable to read about my unnecessary fear of time lapse?
Whatever the case, whatever our lives are like now, the time is still passing lickety split, and it’s intimidating me.
But that seems to be my forte, worrying about everything.
Does worrying make the time go faster?
Ferris Bueller once said,
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.