The Little Things

Paula Courtney Brown

The other day I made a huge realization: I wish there were more hours in the day. Where I was alone.

Isn't that awful? Shouldn't I want more hours with my precious children? Sometimes I do, when I sit and actually take in how quickly they have grown and wonder where my babies went. But, for the most part, I really don't. By the time I get these kiddies to bed at approximately 8pm each night, I sigh in relief. Finally. I have some "me time".

That's where my request for more hours in the day comes in. Preferably during a time when I'm not physically and emotionally spent, so I could actually get some stuff crossed off one of my epic to-do lists, because in all honesty, by the time I get those two asleep my moxie is pretty depleted. Usually the only things I have the will to do are sit around with the tv and/or laptop. And snacks. Because nothing makes you feel quite as good about yourself as Girl Scout cookies and American Idol.

See, but the thing is, I do have pretty lofty aspirations, and I love to make lists. I just feel so accomplished after I make a list of things I am going to do! Just look at all of these tasks I will get done, perfectly laid out in an orderly fashion, just waiting to be knocked out and crossed off! Lists are great. I feel so organized and proactive while making lists. Things will get DONE once they are on a list. It's a rule. If you list it, it will come. (That was not intended to be a bad Craigslist joke. Honest. Although I wonder if I could sell them that as a slogan?)

Maybe I should spend less time making lists and more time doing stuff that would look nice on a list. Because usually, in a fit of energy and desire for household bliss, I sit with my cup of coffee and make a list that includes tasks like this:

- Clean the entire house, including bathrooms and closets.
- Catch up on all the laundry, including folding and putting away, in color, season and size order.
- Plan 2 weeks worth of meals, including shopping lists and coupon cutting.
- Make a lasagna, freeze half for future meals.
- Return phone calls, make doctors appointments, RSVP to birthday party.
- Write column!
- Write 1000 words on novel.
- Go to bed early.

As the day goes by and I realize this might a little too much to hope to accomplish, the list will get amended to something like this:

- Do the dishes, wipe the counter tops, get rid of the toys on the floor and vacuum the living room.
- Do a load of laundry so Mr. Baby and Little Guy have something to wear tomorrow.
- Make a list of necessities for the grocery store. (Big shopping trip will go on tomorrow's list.)
- Who uses a phone anymore? Email some people.
- I will write after the kids go to bed!
- What? It's only 11:30.

But then pretty soon, I realize I have fallen into the vortex of time suckers like feeding/bathing/clothing/diapering/playing with the kids, showering, not killing the dog, trying to drink the same cup of coffee for two hours...etc. So by the end of the day, I think, if only my list had looked like THIS, I would have graduated with honors from the school of list finishing.

- Hope nobody comes over. Flush Little Guy's toilet. Shove stuff in closets.
- I think there's some stuff in the dryer they can wear. LG only wore those jeans once. They're still clean.
- Pizza night!
- Decide to write tomorrow.
- Wonder where the last few hours went. Surely I haven't been on Farmville this long? I only did two Facebook quizzes. I mean, seriously, who can resist finding out who they were in a past life, or what Jersey Shore character you are? Not me, that's who. (WHY WHY WHY couldn't I be Snooki?!)
- Finally go to bed way too late, at that approximate hour where you will be hating life when the baby wakes up at 5am.
- Lie in bed, mentally make new list for tomorrow. Die for a few hours. Repeat.

But look...I wrote a column today! Check. Tomorrow I will fold laundry. I WILL.

Paula Courtney Brown can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or become a Facebook friend.