sueeeus

First, another look at a beautiful baby.  There can never be too much of that!

While I’m not big on resolutions, I live by lists and goals.  They help maintain my sanity.  There are so many things rattling around in my head, so putting them down on paper (so to speak) is a way to pull them out of the quagmire that is my mind, thus free it up just a bit.  In lieu of any formal resolutions, here are some of my current hopes, plans and goals, in no particular order:

1. sleep through the night — LB slept for six hours straight last night, so we’re on our way!  If only I didn’t keep waking up to check on him, or to check the time…
2. breast milk for a year — if I can maintain the current rate of production, I might be able to stop pumping in April (assuming I can find enough freezer space)
3. settle in to a livable pumping schedule in which I can get a reasonable amount of sleep; see 1 and 2
4. recover my milk supply — one day (yesterday, see 3) of fiddling with the pumping schedule and now a tremendous drop in supply. ..  …trying not to panic…
5. settle in to a good work schedule (thank God I work with and for such great people!)
6. make peace with leaving my children at daycare (children, I have children!)
7. maintain good blood sugar control
8. exercise at least 3 times/week
9. eat more healthy foods than junky foods
10. keep my cool in the face of the emotional challenges a four year old poses
11. spend a little more time and effort grooming –looking better helps me feel better…
12. enlist Gadget to help more around the house –one can always try…
13. buy a house!  Yes, the economy sucks, which is why this year is a particularly good year to buy, if we can manage it.
14. play more with my boys
15. establish a reasonable bed time and routine for BB
16. think happy thoughts
17. count my blessings every day
18. eat for necessity, not emotion or sport
19. take a vacation that’s good for all of us
20. declutter

There are two main trains of thought milling about my head right now.  One is that I need to go back to the office.  Need to.  Need some adult interaction, a change of environment, and a better defined routine.  Need it.

The other is that I have a new goal that I need to explore and fully define, but it’s a goal, nonetheless, and it’s important.  I’m sure it’s a repeat goal that I’ve attempted before, and abandoned, but it’s time for a resurrection.

There.  About the office.  I don’t recall feeling this caged the last time I was telecommuting full time.  Maybe it has something to do with the time of year.  BB was born in January, so spring was springing when I was returning to work.  There was more sunshine, there were flowers blooming, there were afternoon walks.  LB was born at the end of August, and we’re fast forwarding past autumn and into winter.  There is rain, and more rain, and wind and more rain.  The sky is darkening by 4 p.m.  Did I mention the rain?  There are no lovely afternoon walks, unless mad dashes through Costco and Fred Meyer count.  I’m only working three days a week, taking Tuesdays and Thursdays as vacation days so I can catch up on the sleep I missed while working Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  Having over 20 years under my belt has its advantages.  I get 4 weeks of paid vacation a year, and I can roll a full year over, so I’ve banked 8 weeks that I’m using now, and I can spread it out for quite some time.  I think I can work 3 days a week until April, in fact, and still get paid for full time.  Woot!

But something is different and I’m feeling house-bound.  Stir crazy.  I don’t necessarily get more work done at the office, but it sure is nice to see people, and, dare I say it, social anxiety or not, be seen.  I miss my peeps.  Over twenty years with some of these people make them family.  We’ve spent the better part of our lives together.  I miss that.  I miss them.  I actually brought up the mother’s room calendar today, to see how many people were using it, and if I could fit my pumping schedule in.  A couple of the women have dropped out, and there’s a new one, but it looks like there is room for me.  Do I want to drag my pumping gear around with me?

And then there’s the pang, big time, I feel when considering sending LB off to daycare earlier than later.  He’s only a baby for such a short short time, and what kind of a person am I to send him off when I actually could keep him with me for a little while longer.  As long as he’s not interfering with my work, it’s reasonable to allow him to stay, and since he’s still sleeping through most of my working hours, it’s okay.  So if he’s sleeping, does it matter that he sleeps at my house or at the daycare?  I think I’ll consider starting him at daycare in January, after the bustle of the holidays is over.  He’ll be a little over 4 months old.

Sigh.

Did I mention that I Googled child care rates across the country and found that I’m fortunate enough to live in one of the more expensive states?  I wonder if that means our per capita earnings are accordingly higher?  Right.  I doubt it.  Anyhow, I’ll be getting a blazing steal of a bargain at $300/week for the two kids.  It’s way under the average, so I shouldn’t complain.

And now for the other item.  My goal.  I need to get to know myself better, get over myself, and fall in love with myself, if any of that makes sense.  Get over myself, because I get wrapped up in the same patterns and thoughts and depressions and cycles, over and over and over again.  It’s getting old.  I’m getting old.  And fall in love with myself, so that I can honor myself and accept myself and be comfortable with myself, and just cut myself some slack.  Walk the talk, so to speak.  Not have ridiculous expectations that can’t be met.  Relax a little, alright, already.  No conditions.  That’s the goal.  Unconditional love.  For my self.  I have no idea how to get there, but there it is.  That’s my goal.

I think that unconditional love will wash away a lot of stress and anxiety.  And guilt.

Today I happened across a blog in which the author is a young (looking) gorgeous mother of three, who is a mixed media artist living in a showcase home in Long Island. I gaze upon the photos of her home and her studio and see nothing but success, and wonder how on earth can such a young person have so much (seeming) perfection in her life. The answer may be that she is married to someone who provided that incredible home, and that she is free to work her crafts, mother, and fulfill her soul. Or maybe she or they inherited. She has lovely craft, but it doesn’t seem to be the volume or price to afford such a home.

For so many, the mere act of providing a home, any home, is nearly overwhelming, and in order to do so, one often has to sacrifice one’s crafts, one’s self-expressive dreams, whatever they may be, to make the ends meet. And we make nice homes for ourselves, with what we have within our reach. They may not be showcases with gleaming surfaces and architectural intricacies, but they are the places that we call our own.  And our lives may seem harried, with the strains of mothering, working, and wifing consuming us, leaving us spent and too weary to pursue our craft with the purity we’d like to afford it.

How I imagine I’d love to have a showcase home, studio, and life!   Not to showcase, but just to love and enjoy. Because I love beautiful design and style. And quality. My home is an average suburban home. It’s a comfortable and lived in home. A showcase home is not within my immediate means (without taking on substantial debt). Some day, perhaps… …but not now.  And a showcase life may never be in my stars.

I’m not a business woman, so the peddling of craft is a mystery to me. I’d so much rather give it away. Something about putting things up for sale takes away from the joy of the craft. Or maybe it’s because the price I’d want for the effort and love and thought put toward something is so much more than I’d feel that I could or should ask, so I’d rather just not ask. (Also, the quality that I’d produce most likely wouldn’t pass my expectations, so I’d not entitle myself to price things anyway. Perfectionism can be a curse.) Idyllic as it seems, if I crafted for a living, perhaps I wouldn’t enjoy it as much. I’m not sure that I’d know how to marry business with pleasure.

There was a brief twinge of jealousy, while browsing that blog. Living in a beautiful home, working one’s art, mothering and wifing. It seemed so ideal. And so far away. And reading of recent events in local blogland as well. Other people’s lives. They seem so charming, or so full, or so successful, or so something. Something that mine is not.

It’s crazy, though, because my life is actually incredible, and full to overflowing with blessings, if I’d only take a moment to count them.

For instance.

I’m feeling excited about the prospect of a snuggly little tiny baby to add to my family. I’m not even half-way there yet (but close!) and I find myself fast-forwarding my life. I spent far too much time looking at baby wrap styles again. I even ordered 10 yards of bamboo french terry material today. It’s supposed to be great for diapers, but I’m thinking of making towels and wraps. We’re not quite cut out for the cloth diapering experience.

As Two of Nine, I’ve cleaned many a nasty diaper in years gone by. I can hardly fathom Gadget sharing in such a task. It’s a stretch to get him to show enthusiasm for diaper patrol at all. So we will be doing our share of adding to the local landfill. Again.

Now, I don’t need any wraps! I made MANY in BamBam’s early days. I will be getting them back from my sister, soon. I might make one native type pouch. I made a couple for my sister, but they might not fit me, so we’ll see. It’s just… …I’m so easily addicted to making baby things!

The house rearranging is coming along. The sleeping room now sports a king sized bed. HUGE! The queen consumes most of the guest room. We had two queen memory foam toppers. I left one on the guest bed, and cut the other into a twin and added it to BamBam’s bed. As if he’ll ever sleep in it. It’s comfy, though. I’m thinking of using the extra foam to make some specialty pillows, or perhaps a small comfy sleeping mat for BamBam to use in our room. He’s using a toddler mattress now, and it’s heavy and hard. Considering how often I have to dissemble and launder the bedding, the sleeping mat might be a good thing.

I boxed up the entire VHS video collection to donate somewhere, except my 4-minute wedding video and my 4-d ultrasound. I don’t even know if our VCR is hooked up or works. I think it does, but it’s been so long. I need to move the old taped stuff to DVD. Future project. Tedious. It can wait.

I sure would like to paint and get some fresh new colors going on in here, but will have to wait until Baby is several months old, and by then, will probably be far too exhausted to consider anything on the lines of home improvement. Maybe I can tackle one or two rooms, when we can open up the windows and get plenty of ventilation. Of course, ventilation is only part of the equation. I need to enlist the efforts of one Mister Gadget, and that is the more daunting task, I’m afraid.

Once I have things settled and arranged on the home front, I think I will start into a little sewing. It’s been a long time! I have a gorgeous felt dragon kit that I brought home from Winterwood. I also copied several of Suse’s fabulous felt animal patterns, and hope to make some of them too.

I pray. Why? Because the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. And I believe that.

I think about beliefs and why we believe the things that we believe. People kill and maim and fight wars over differences in beliefs. If I could project myself out into the heavens and look down on the earth, so as to get the big picture perspective, what would I see’ Would it make any sense’ I would ask myself, “Why'”

There is faith, there is tradition, and there is loyalty. I see fierce loyalties to things like sports teams, towns, schools, countries, religions. There is intellectual loyalty and emotional loyalty. I can understand intellectual loyalty, because it has a basis of reason. I am somewhat baffled by emotional loyalty. Why does it matter if Team A beat Team B’ Did they play well’ Did they play their best’ Do I have to side with Team A because they’re based in my home town’ What if I think Team B is the better team’ Will I be ostracized for favoring Team B’ Why does it matter if I’m a Star Bellied Sneech or a North-going Zax’ Loyalty is a very strange thing indeed.

There are those who are loyal based on tradition. Something is taught and passed on, and perhaps not ever questioned or understood, but held fast to all the same. This also baffles me. To me, loyalty is something that must be earned. Questioning is therefore essential.

There is patriotism. Now that makes almost no sense to me. Who can control where they are born? I’m GRATEFUL to have been born into a (relatively) free country. And I love the land of my youth. Because it’s the land of my youth. But I’m not patriotic in the sense that I think my country is better than any other country. What would give me that right? But to delve further into these questions would mean that I’d have to delve into politics and other things of which I am painfully and shockingly ignorant. And that wearies me. So I will let it rest that I am thankful to live the life that I’m living, where I happen to be.

There is a book movement sweeping the country, fueled in part by Oprah, I suspect. Eat, Pray, Love. I haven’t read the book, but for some reason, Mr. Gadget put Oprah on the other day, and that was the topic du jour. He then left the room. It was very strange on his part, and I sat scratching my head in bewilderment over his behavior, while listening to the women and their stories. I have seen the book in passing, and thought that it sounded interesting. Anything that starts with ‘Eat’ and ends with ‘Love’ must have some sort of goodness to it. One thing that struck a nice chord with me was the suggestion to write down the happiest moment of every day in a gratitude journal, and to ask yourself what you really, really, really want. (It’s an earnest way to probe.) I was going to start blogging my happiest moments each day, but am a bit wary, due to that nanomobololrorljrmormeoeremrmmooo hullaballoo. I know that these things can become tedious if one makes a commitment. (I’m not so good at commitments, I acknowledge, because I knew better than to sign up for nanonaonemoemrn and I’m just about ready to quit seeing my chiroquacker, which is mostly due to him wanting me to “commit to my health.” And while we’re on the topic of commitment phobia and true confessions, let me just say that I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of Good LORD, what am I getting myself into and WHAT AM I DOING???? and no I DON’T! I know not what when I uttered those two words, “I do.”) All that aside, I bought the book, and plan to read it. Perhaps over Christmas break. Either way, I’m making a deliberate effort to think of the happiest moment of my day each night, just before I fall asleep. It’s good to end the day on a high note.

I don’t know where I was going with this post. I started the draft eons ago. Maybe just to document that I am perplexed about life in general. Or not. I must have been inspired about something. But for now, I’m concentrating on each and every day’s happiest moments.

Today’s? Remembering a dream from last night, in which Mr. Gadget and I shared on of those I – love – you – through – every – fiber – of – your – being looks, and kissed a long and beautiful I – love – you – through – every – fiber – of – your – being kisses. Even if it never happens during consciousness, at least the angels have reminded me that there is love. I’ll treasure that moment, even if it was only a dream. (Oh yes, there is love, but the expression in real life… …is not so sweet as the perfection found in dreams…)

And the husband, reading only fragments over my shoulder, says, “Who is James Five Sixteen?  Your blogging pal buddy friend that you’re writing secret messages to?”

Yes Dear.  That’s it.

(s) for the Aussies…  I’m so thoughtful.  🙂

There are times when I’m nearly overcome with anxiety.  Like now.  I know that the root cause is the hormonal change du jour, but that doesn’t help me abate it.  It just helps me understand why it’s there.  Here.  Now.  I would sit on my hands, but I need them to type. 

My thoughts whir about in a general cloud because there are so many irons in the fire, spinning plates, loose threads, or whatever you want to call it.  “Too many notes,” as the emperor said to Mozart.  It helps to write lists.  Things to Do.  I have a collection of journals, books, notebooks, pads, and papers, all for this express purpose.  Lists are a very good coping mechanism.  Less intrusive than meds.

Amongst the tornado of thoughts, occasional fragments come into focus. 

Making a living in rural America.  (How does one do it )
Bora Bora.  Now that would be a fabulous getaway, wouldn’t it
Low maintenance landscaping.  Artificial turf.
Garden cage (to keep the wild animals out, in wild America).
Sustainable living (in rural America).  Passive heating, cooling and power.
Stable broadband internet (in rural America).
Family vacations to interesting places.  Other continents.  Tropics.
Social connections.  Yearning for a sense of community.
Education (saving now for the future).
Work (in suburban/urban America) here, now, due today, due soon.

After capturing some of these, it is apparent there is only one theme.  I want to move to rural America, build my dream home, earn a living, live comfortably, raise my family, take occasional vacations, prepare for my child’s future, and belong to the community (i.e., have friends and a social life).  All of these things are possible.  They just need patience, planning, and execution. 

I can design and build my dream home with sufficient planning and juggling of assets.  If I can guarantee stable internet connectivity, I can very likely keep my current job (given I provide a stellar sales pitch and justification portfolio).   If I can keep my job with its decent wage (and excellent medical coverage), I would have the means to save for family vacations the caliber of the fragmented thoughts flitting about my imagination.

All within the realm of possibility.  Just a matter of laying it out, putting a plan in place, and taking action on the plan.

Drawbacks.  Working remotely makes it easy for the home base to forget you.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Salary growth would likely diminish or cease altogether.  If cutbacks are edicted, layoff could loom ominously.  If the job disappeared, how would we make a living   How would we adjust to the long winters   What would MG do for income

The easy road would be to relinquish, or postpone the dream until retirement (13 years at best).  But I don’t want to do that.  I don’t want to wait to live my dream life.  I want to live it now.  I could walk away from this job altogether, but then the grim reality of making a living by other means would likely open new anxieties.  More work for less money.  Less time off.  Less freedom.  Or more freedom, but less money.  Much less money. 

Maybe the anxiety is from not knowing what to do.  I know what I want.  I know I can get there.  It’s just not clear which path to take.  It doesn’t help that MG isn’t particularly thrilled about relocating to rural America.  I’ve planted the seeds, though, and have been (and will be) gently tending them for years.

It can all boil down to some equations.  No need to be confused or anxious.

x=what I want
y=cost of x
z=factors affecting x, y, t
t=time to accomplish y
life=f(x1,y1,z1, t1….xa, ya, za, ta…xz, yz, zz, tz)

Me, to MG:  I used to be fun.

MG, eyebrow raised, no effort to conceal incredulity:  When

Me, after a long and thoughtful pause:  In my twenties.

There are times when I lament losing track of the person I was when it seemed that I had it all together, but I must remind myself that

1) It is only an illusion — my life has been in many ways like a broken record in which I repeat or revisit the same tune, over and over and over again — and when I wistfully recall a smiling exhuberant bright eyed youth, I must not overlook the fact that that same smiling girl had many a cloudy day in which she felt unloved, unwanted, unaccomplished.

-and-

2) I have never had it all together.  I just didn’t have as many or the same responsibilities, so the load was (perhaps) less heavy and certainly different.

Sometimes I get caught up in regrets over the possibilities of what could have been had I only made better or different choices with my words and actions.  Assuming that the outcomes would have been better, I am convicted after losing an unwinnable trial within the confines of my mind, and thus saddle myself with a life-sentence of guilt and remorse.  All this over the what ifs of life and living. 

How easy it is to forget that there is no changing the past; there is only learning.  And these experiences bind together to form the fabric of our lives.  They add color and texture.  The trials and tribulations make us strong.

How important it is to remember that what we have is the now.  How we live in the now will affect the memories and reflections that we will have in the future.  If we want to paint the fabric of our lives in different hues, then we must get down to the business of living, and paint the now in the vibrant colors of which we yearn.

This is the only moment we have, this moment right now.  This is the moment we must savour.  This is the time to love.  This is the time to rejoice.  This is the time to breathe, deeply.  This is the time to turn our faces to the sky and smile.

I’ll sing my song to the wide open spaces
I’ll sing my heart out to the infinite sea
I’ll sing my visions to the sky high mountains
I’ll sing my song to the free, to the free

Searchin’ for a note, pure and easy
Playing so free, like a breath rippling by

Fragments from Stockton Gala Days and Gold Rush Brides waft through my mind as I find myself distracted by the yearning for simplicity, for self-sufficiency, for joying in the fruits of my labor; a more meaningful existence.

that summer fields grew high
with foxglove stalks and ivy
wild apple blossoms everywhere

From whence, such yearnings To dine from the bounty of my garden. To work with my hands. To craft. To be an artisan of any kind. To live off the fat of the land.

who were the homestead wives
who were the gold rush brides
does anybody know
do their works survive their yellow fever lives in the pages they wrote

Such a dreamer. I have yet to grow a garden. The smallest attempts I’ve made have been discouraging. Aphids and slugs. How does one grow luscious foods, sans pests I am storing inspirational links and tips on my sidebar, for future reference.

Methinks such ramblings begin in part with a troublesome commute. When the sky opens up and the rains return, though welcome, the yang to the yin is the reaction of everyday people out there, congesting the roads, trying to wield their superiority over the elements, thinking that somehow they don’t need to adjust their speed or maneuvering techniques to compensate for the weather. Times like these I long to remain home. To make my living by staying put. Let the busy world pass on by. I want to slow down. Pioneer heritage stirs within me, past generations of yankee ingenuity pull at my heartstrings, urging me to follow, to return home.

come back to me with all your heart
don’t let fear keep us apart
trees do bend, though straight and tall
so must we to others call

long have I waited for your
coming home to me
and living, deeply, our new life

the wilderness will lead you
to your heart, where I will speak
integrity and justice, with tenderness
you shall know

you shall sleep, secure with peace
faithfulness will be your joy

And then I understand. Melodies that captured my heart, from the earliest and finest memories of days gone by. These are words that formed me, that knit together with my heart and soul to form the fabric of my being. Who I am.

credits: Hosea, Come Back To Me, Gregory Norbet, OSB (Order of Saint Benedict); Stockton Gala Days, Gold Rush Brides, from Our Time in Eden, 10,000 Maniacs

The dream is alive. Now, it’s just a matter of choice. What view would I like best, from my kitchen window

Shall it be water and mountains Or a grove of white barked trees. With large rock outcroppings scattered in the distance

I think I’d like the water view from a covered porch, where I can sit and enjoy the evening air.
I’d like to make the most of passive thermal heating and cooling properties, so I’m going to have to figure out the lay of the land, North and South, East and West. The dream is for a green home that uses energy wisely.  I like a woodsy, Asian, contemporary flair.  It will be a Pacific Northwest Zen home, at one with the environment and the family. So many things to consider, but oh! The possibilities!

The clock is ticking, but I’m not sure when we can take those steps and boldly go forth and immerse ourselves in Rural America. Mr. Gadget’s heart isn’t there yet. But I’m working on him.

For now, this piece of paradise is ours.  It’s a step.  A leap, in fact.

Let’s try that again, shall we

• 5:15 – 5:35 a.m. wake up (4 mins)
• 5:19 – 5:39 a.m. prepare for work
• necessary hygiene
• bathe (20 mins)
• brush teeth (3 mins)
• get dressed (5 mins)
• apply warpaint (5 mins)
• pack lunch bag (5 mins)
• 5:57 a.m. prepare for daycare
• dress the munchkin (5 mins)
• pack diaper bag (5 mins)
• snuggles and cuddles (5-10 mins)
• 6:12 – 6:17 a.m. make the bed (ha ha, as if that will happen) (3 mins) 
• 6:15 -6:20 a.m. drive to work (35-40 mins)
• 7:00 a.m. – 3:30 p.m. work (8.5 hrs)
• 3:30 – 4:15 p.m. drive to daycare (45-50 mins)
• 4:15 – 4:25 p.m. daycare pickup (10 mins)
• 4:25 – 4:35 p.m. drive home (10-15 mins)
• 4:35 – 5:05/5:35 p.m. prepare dinner (30-60 mins)
• 5:05/5:35 – 5:35/6:05 p.m. feed the munchkin (30 mins)
• 5:35/6:05 – 5:50/6:20 p.m. feed myself (15 mins)
• 5:50/6:20 – 6:10/6:40 p.m. clean the kitchen (20 mins)
• 6:10/6:40 – 7:05 p.m. exercise (25-55 mins)
• 7:05 p.m. miscellaneous household chores (30 mins)
• 7:35 p.m. bathe the boy (20 mins)
• 7:55 p.m. change into jammies (5 mins)
• 8:00 p.m. put him to bed (15 mins)
• 8:15 – 8:20/9:00 p.m. get him to sleep (5-45 mins)
• 8:20/9:00 – 9:00/9:40 p.m. marriage maintenance (40 mins)
• 9:00/9:40 p.m. – 10:00 p.m. me time (20-60 mins)
• 10:00 p.m. prepare myself for bed (5 mins)
• 10:05 p.m. – 5:15/5:35 a.m. sleep

I don’t know why I was complaining.  According to this schedule, there is not only room in my life for exercise, housecleaning, and marriage maintenance, but there is me time as well.  Except, I just realized, that apart from the 5-10 minutes of morning snuggles and cuddles, I am completely ignoring my child.  This will never do.

This is more what honesty looks like.

• 2:30 a.m. wake up for diaper change, put toddler back to bed (10 mins)
• 2:40 a.m. back to sleep
• 5:00 a.m. wake up for another diaper change and hungry boy, give in and feed him something (20 mins)
• 5:20 a.m back to sleep
• 6:30 a.m. wake up exhausted, realize we’re late again, wonder to self, “what’s the point “, try to get up, fail, go back to sleep, drag self out of bed, finally, after a ten minute struggle
• 6:40 a.m. prepare for daycare
• dress the munchkin (5 mins)
• pack diaper bag (5 mins)
• snuggles and cuddles (5-10 mins)
• 7:00 a.m. prepare for work
• necessary hygiene
• bathe (20 mins)
• brush teeth (3 mins)
• get dressed (5 mins)
• apply warpaint (5 mins)
• pack lunch bag (5 mins)
• 6:12 – 6:17 a.m. make the bed (ha ha, as if that will happen) (3 mins) 
• 7:20 – 8:00 a.m. drive to work (35-40 mins)
• 8:00 a.m. – 4:30 p.m. work (8.5 hrs)
• 4:30 – 5:15 p.m. drive to daycare (45-50 mins)
• 5:15 – 5:25 p.m. daycare pickup (10 mins)
• 5:25 – 5:35 p.m. drive home (10-15 mins)
• 5:35 – 6:05/6:35 p.m. prepare dinner (30-60 mins)
• 6:05/6:35 – 6:35/7:05 p.m. feed the munchkin (30 mins)
• 6:35/7:05 – 6:50/7:20 p.m. feed myself (15 mins)
• 5:50/6:20 – 6:10/6:40 p.m. clean the kitchen (20 mins)
• 6:10/6:40 – 7:05 p.m. exercise (25-55 mins)
• 7:05 p.m. miscellaneous household chores (30 mins)
• 7:35 p.m. bathe the boy (20 mins)
• 6:50/7:20 – 7:55 p.m. play with beloved child, pay bills, misc. household chores, delete spam, waste time
• 7:55 p.m. change into jammies (5 mins)
• 8:00 p.m. put him to bed (15 mins)
• 8:15 – 8:20/9:00 p.m. get him to sleep (5-45 mins)
• 8:20 – 9:00 p.m. delete spam, blog
• 9:00 – 10:00 p.m. marriage maintenance (i.e., watch tv together)
• 10:00 p.m. prepare myself for bed but get distracted by an assortment of distractions, including but not limited to: blogs, tv, arguments, chores, daydreams, internet research, projects, and so on, and so forth.
• 11:00 p.m. – 2:30 a.m. sleep

And… somewhere in there I manage to shop for groceries, fuel the car, do some banking, and so on and so forth. 

It’s been exhausting, just trying to sort out where my day goes!  However, I think that I shan’t berate myself quite so much for not making more time for exercise.