Finding Time
It feels like I haven't found time to do much of anything recently – the huge project I've been battling with at work continues to grow – swallowing up developers, consultants, and conference call hours like some sort of creeping monster – devouring all in it's path. Tonight I have carved out an hour to write a few words, and perhaps redress the balance a little. I'm not sure I have much to share though.
While writing this the England football team are playing against Japan in the women's World Cup. I don't need to watch, because our younger children are providing a running commentary whether we like it or not. Miss 15 just shouted “Karen Carney is coming on!” to nobody in particular, followed a few moments later by “OFFSIDE!”. It's exciting stuff, if only because the children are so excited.
Our youngest daughter played cricket this evening at a local cricket club. It's funny really – when you have daughters, convention presumes that you might end up at dance shows, or perhaps athletics – not so much judo, rugby, football, and cricket. I love that our daughters defy convention at every turn – although I'm also annoyed on a regular basis that they face such uneven playing fields so regularly.
(several minutes pass while the children remark that there are no clean towels – and the entire family is drawn into an argument about the number of towels being used every day – I have put seven through the washing machine tonight)
Somehow it is already 10pm. How does that even happen? It feels like every evening is stolen from me at the moment. Mornings aren't much better – spent emptying the dishwasher, making lunches, washing up, and clearing up behind everybody else before leaving the house. I wonder if it gets easier as the children get older? We sometimes visit friends who's children have moved out, and their houses seem to be paragons of peace, quiet, and tranquility.
I might have an early night. Of course we all know I'm not going to – I'm going to scroll through Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Reddit, Wordpress, Facebook, and who knows where else until 1am, just like every other night – then I'll wonder why I'm so tired in the morning.
p.s. I had a dream last night where I was queueing up to buy a drink in a cafe, and Donald Trump was in the queue, being his usual charming self to the staff behind the counter (read: being an objectionable, rude, aloof, ignorant arsehole). I don't remember anything about the dream now – but laughed to myself all day at the idea that Trump would ever set foot in a cafe. No doubt he has staff to go get him fizzy drinks and fast food while he sits festering over Twitter on his unsecured mobile phone in the Whitehouse. Idiot.