Multitasking-less

I notice that in this era of advancing technology we are more and more capable of doing many things at once.  We can do more, do it faster, do it longer.  At some point in recent years, we became a nation that prided itself on its ability to multitask. Yet I also notice that as I age my personal ability, my internal technology, seems to be moving in the opposite direction.

I liken the experience to that of a juggler.  In my twenties and thirties I became a master juggler quite successfully. Now, in my forties, I still am. The difference being that I had responsibilities the size of tennis balls back then and today the issues before me are the size of bowling balls. I am successful at the juggling but as I handle the bowling-ball-sized responsibilities, the tennis-ball-sized-items that get tossed my way often fail to get picked up or handled well.

So, for instance, as I work hard in my role as mother, focusing on homework every night, I work to make sure my son is mastering the lessons, applying the exercises for practice, and absorbing the knowledge in his long term memory banks. I do this while working full-time at my job and volunteering part-time at his school and at our church.... the "bowling-ball-sized items".

I am mothering, teaching, directing, all with the intent and focus on my son's intellectual, behavioral, and social development. And now, as the fall season moves quickly toward winter, I notice the boy has no pants.... which ought to be a tennis-ball-sized matter... until November comes.

The boy has grown three inches since April and has insisted on wearing shorts the entire time. We are deep into October and the one pair of pants he has worn to church every week for months has finally given out at the knees. 

I am sure this sounds like a really minor problem. I can afford to buy more pants. Yet the multitasker in me cannot figure out when and where and I have zero time to get it done before they will be desparately needed and their absence will cause him to be labeled inappropriate and me to be labeled a bad mom (or at least a weird one).

I will manage this somehow... but what I notice more than the temporary pantless situation is how fried my brain became when I realized we lost the only pair of pants we had.  I am certain the issue is more complicated by my son's firm belief that he should not have to wear pants (thus, I suspect, the lack of forthcoming communication about the insufficient quantity of pants). Once the situation finally penetrated the fog that has become a permanent part of my head, I became paralyzed, frozen, stuck. I had plans, agendas, maps, and dates... this was an interuption. A problem. A challenge. One that I did not feel compelled to rise to meet, but rather compelled to fall under. Better yet, crawl under. Somebody please stop this ride that is my life. It is going too fast and I want to get off.

Stop it now.