Scheduling Difficulties

 Life is full of rhythms and patterns.  The earth rotates on its axis every twenty-four hours.  Bad old ideas are turned into bad new TV shows every Fall.  Presidential candidates lie about each other every four years.  Even my own home has a rhythm, but it’s changed over time.

Sixteen years ago – when my children were actually children – their needs defined the rhythm of my life.

6:00am — Realizing that he had only moments to be out of bed before the sun cleared the horizon, my two-year old jumped up and announced, “Is time ‘a get up now!”

6:10am — Frantic that mommy and daddy weren’t immediately fully conscious and dressed, the two-year old enlisted the aid of his infant brother by rocking the cradle violently until the baby started to cry.  This made the two-year old cry.

6:12am — With both children going at full volume, my wife and I had no choice but to get up.

6:30am – About that time, the alarm went off indicating that it was time to start another fun-filled day at the Cummings household.

6:35am — I showered, shaved, dressed for work, fed the cat, fed the fish, emptied the dishwasher, made orange juice for everyone, and ate breakfast.  By contrast, my wife took both children downstairs.  Looking back, I realize it wasn’t a fair division of labor, but so long as  my wife let me get away with the easy part, I kept doing it.

7:15am — Being the craven coward that I was, I sneaked off to my office, leaving my wife home with the kids.

7:30am — Sesame Street came on PBS and the two-year old turned into a root vegetable.

8:35am — My wife dressed the children.  After helping the two-year old get his head through the neck of his tee-shirt rather than the sleeve, she turned her attention to the infant.  As soon as that was done, the two-year old announced, “I have to go potty.”

When that was done, the infant spat up on his clothes and needed to be changed.  By then the two-year old had gotten dirty and needed cleaned up.  This cycle repeated for most of the morning.

10:00am — After giving the infant his mid-morning meal, my wife picked up the toys on the living room floor.  In the meantime, the two-year old went upstairs and removed the remainder of his toys from his closet.  While my wife cleaned his room, he scattered toys in the living room.

11:40am — Lunch time!  The negotiations which preceded lunch at my house made a meeting of the U.N. Security Council look like a ladies sewing circle.  The two-year old wanted Twinkies and chocolate milk.  My wife, being firmly convinced that very few Olympic athletes grew up eating junk food, insisted on something healthier like cottage cheese and fruit.  With the basic offers on the table, the real bargaining began.  The two-year old agreed to the fruit, but not the cottage cheese.  My wife countered with a half-Twinkie for dessert in exchange for a clean plate.  Eventually she won by virtue of her superior authority as the Mommy.

12:30pm to 3:00pm — Nap Time.  For the two-and-a-half hours of nap, the house was silent.  The infant was asleep — resting so he’d be ready to stay up all night.  The two-year old was quiet because he knew better than to disturb Mommy during her nap.

3:00pm — After waking everybody, feeding the infant, taking the two-year old potty, and dressing both kids in play clothes, my wife was at last ready to start her day’s work.
5:00pm — I arrived home, refreshed and relaxed after spending a day at the office.  At this point, my wife and I argued over which of us got to cook dinner.  It was a hard fought argument because the loser got to take care of the kids.

7:00pm — Bed Time.  Putting the two-year old to bed was an hour-long process.   It entailed bathing, putting on pj’s, reading lots of stories, and carting approximately three gallons of water from the bathroom to the bedroom…one glass at a time.

8:00pm — With the two-year old more-or-less asleep and the infant happily cooing to a plastic Mickey Mouse doll, my wife and I had a few moments for ourselves.  Before we had kids, we spent our evenings reading books, or discussing politics, or even just cuddling.  After parenthood we sat and stared at the T.V. like psychiatric patients who’d had too much electroshock therapy.  We dreamed of how much easier life would be when the kids were older and could take more care of themselves.

Pity us.  We were foolish and delusional.

Our sons are both in high school now and our schedule is measured in days, rather than hours.  Coordinating family activities begins to resemble planning a major military operation.
“I’ll be late tonight,” our youngest son says.

“Play practice?” I ask.

“Math club.  Practice is on Wednesday.”

“I thought Wednesday was student council.”

“No,” says our eldest.  “Student council is on alternate Thursdays.”

“What does it alternate with?”

“Debate.”  (The years of negotiating lunch menus permanently warped him and debate is a socially acceptable outlet for his argumentative tendencies.)

“Friday?” I ask.

“School dance,” they answer in unison.

“Saturday?”

“They’re both working that day, dear,” my wife says.

Now I’m totally confused.  It’s entirely possible that I should be preparing for a debate meet or memorizing lines for the play.  I ask, “Am I working Saturday?”
“Yes,” my wife says. “I have a list of things for you to do around the house.”

“Okay,” I say knowing it’ll be a long list.  I think my wife is paying me back for all the years I left her alone with the kids.  I don’t complain, though, because she has the schedule under control.  And, I think scheduling will get easier in a few years when we have grandkids.