Riding my bike in the afternoon and worrying
I was on my bike, about twenty blocks from my house. My bike is frumpy. I'm mad at it. I was in a lovely neighborhood, biking home from the consignment shop where I had bought some really great designer clothes. I was on my bike because a friend had borrowed our van to move some furniture to his girlfriend's apartment. I was unreasonaby mad that he had not returned the van on time. The anger was escalating and I was trying to get a handle on myself. I felt hurried and frustrated. The hills frustrated me. The bag of clothes banging against my knee as I rode into the wind frustrated me.The clothes had made me happy, sort of, but the process of choosing them had been arduous and I had had to face once again the fact that I'm the age and shape that I am now, not the age and shape that I was, when I used to ride my bike everyday because I didn't even have a car.
But I had found good clothes, at reasonable prices and I had made good choices. The thing that was so frustrating was that I couldn't get a handle on time. I felt like I was "losing the day" by biking up these stupid hills, with the stupid clothes bag banging against my knee. I needed to get home to my work.
I work at home, in a little office off of our bedroom. I keep myself in there, in the pleasant little space of that small office, for most of the day each day. I love the work. I love talking on the phone and pitching my ideas and hearing stories from other moms and editing the sound files that I record of the interviews I do for MOMbo.
So I was unreasonably mad as I pedaled home. I wanted to already be there. I wanted to already be writing the things I was supposed to write and calling the people I was supposed to call. I was all worked up, pedaling furiously.
I think because my days are bookended by my motherhood I feel an essential urge to always make the most of my time. I think most mothers feel this way. I see us, working hard to stay on task, working hard to "get things done." The mothers I know who have jobs at offices and restaurants and schools are focusing, focusing to get their work done in order to be able to get home to take care of their children. Their children have all kinds of needs. So the work life of the mom extends far into the night, as she prepares dinner or goes school supply shopping or answers questions about math homework or holds the baby who has a fever.
I calmed myself down by thinking of all the mothers I know who were meeting deadlines at that moment at their jobs. All the moms I know who were hustling the food to the table at a restaurant or pouring batter into pans at a bakery or typing their final draft of their report to their manager, or giving a lesson, seated on a little chair in front of small students. I thought about how lucky I was to have the job that I have. I thought about how good the new clothes were going to look on me and how I'd probably look better in these clothes if I biked everyday instead of driving around in my van.
When I got home I checked all my voice mail. I checked my email. I made a big list. I ate tortilla chips and drank a huge glass of water and put my clothes on my bed to put away later. I had a big slice of chocolate cake. I crouched over my computer and tried to catch up, catch up... looking at the clock. I have an hour til the girls get home from school. My cheeks feel flushed from the cold clear air. I have to get on the phone again. I have to edit one more piece.
posted by Nanci Olesen @ 3:16 PM
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