Do you hear it? Or is it just me who hears the constant ticking. Supposedly, only God knows the number of my days, but sometimes I’m convinced there is a clock in my head that is pounding out each second in a deafening countdown.
It’s a mean little clock too. It never, ever sets itself back an hour, even when I’m at my breaking point.
No, time rolls on, and that clock is keeping count of everything from moments missed to events rushing toward me at full force and every second in between.
It seems I’m always aware of time, or the lack of it. I know just how few hours of sleep I will get if I go to bed “right now”, how many minutes ago I should have gotten up, how few minutes I have to actually apply makeup and curl my hair before being invaded by chatter about Legos and computer games. I know exactly what time I need to wake the big kid and how many minutes later he will actually roll out of bed, and I’m already dreading the number of times I will have to urge him to get dressed, eat his breakfast, get his school bags. I have a separate timer running in the back of my head which tells me what time I took my prescription medication, and therefore, what time I will be able to eat breakfast, if I haven’t passed out from the morning rush by then. Once the big kid is up, the clock instantly starts over in a countdown to the last possible minute I can get the toddler up, throw a sippy cup in her hand and still make it to school before the last bell.
It’s an endless rush to beat the little neon clock on the car dashboard - to school, to the babysitter, to work, back to school, back to the babysitter, back home to cook dinner before the kids start to melt down.
The clock tells me how many times I’ve called those same kids to the dinner table and how little time will now be left to eat before the clock starts over for homework and bedtime routines. And about halfway into all of this, I’m keenly aware of how many minutes til Daddy gets home and restores some tiny part of my sanity, or at the very least, runs interference, so my brain cells jump off at a slower pace.
The clock is always there. It tells me if I can finish a load in the dishwasher or washing machine before having to leave the house. It gauges which YouTube video to fire up for my various needs. For instance, I know that “C is for Cookie” can easily sustain a quick run to the bathroom, but if I want to go downstairs and switch my now very wrinkled laundry from the washer to the dryer, the full version of “What’s the Name of That Song?” will be required. And Heaven forbid I have to make an important phone call. That takes X number of minutes to gather a buffet of snacks, two different cups to choose from and load an entire medley by The Wiggles.
I know how many minutes the hair color has been fusing into my head, how long my toddler has been mysteriously quiet, how many hours it has been since I refreshed the cat’s food and water, how many minutes it’s been since my big kid took a breath between sentences, how long til the microwave beeps, and how long til the variety of toys playing music in the background all shut off.
Somehow though, this clock in my head, doesn’t just count in minutes. Amazingly, it simultaneously counts by days, weeks, months, years.
For, even while I am aware of the microwave whirring, dishwasher chugging, washing machine agitating, children talking, toys squawking, and YouTube singing, I am somehow also keenly aware of how many days it has been since I gave a child a bath, washed my own hair, paid the bills, refilled my prescription, checked my email, mailed off packages, or got my paycheck.
And even more amazing is that this clock has the ability to turn days to months as well! I know how many months it’s been since I heard from a long distance relative, transferred a credit card balance, or gave the house a thorough cleaning.
And what’s worse is I know how many years it has been since I bought my car, saw my doctor, or had a date with my husband.
Time is always running out, or running away from something. And yet, it works in reverse as well. Though I know how many days, weeks, months or years have passed, I also know what events are about to crash in on me.
I know exactly the amount of time until the next dentist appointment, birthday party to plan, shower gift to buy, school field trip to set aside money for, annual events my kids will expect to attend, Christmas pageant to buy clothes for, and loan to pay off.
Even through all of this though, the clock ticking in my head has not yet shown it’s meanest streak. No, that comes in the wee hours of the morning, when the house is finally quiet and I know I “should” be going to bed. That’s when the vicious attacks come, the reminders of just how much time you’ve already lost, while tending to the time you had to spend.
When I tiptoe in to take stuffed animals out of my toddler’s bed, and I see how big she now looks in her crib, when I hear my big kid shuffling around for his overnight bathroom trip and I realize how long ago it’s been since he was potty training, when I finally crawl into bed beside my husband and realize we’ve been married for nearly two decades, it hits me. So much time is fleeting. And it isn’t making a point of being obvious about it. It’s sneaky.
While I’m tending to all those appointments and homework and loads of laundry and bills to pay, the clock is still ticking. And though I hear it ticking away the minutes quite often, I seldom hear it ticking away the years.
Maybe I shouldn’t be sitting here blogging right now, and maybe you shouldn’t be sitting there reading. After all, your clock is ticking too. (Just be sure to come back tomorrow)
