Wednesday, February 23, 2011

day to day

my snooze button

The alarm sounds
and I'm off and running
a.k.a. blindly feeling my way to the bathroom door as I fight the urge to ditch the cold morning and re-cocoon up in my comforter.

I know exactly how many minutes it takes to look presentable at work
and refuse to wake even a nanosecond earlier 
and fly through my morning regime in a half-coma before grabbing my oatmeal, yogurt, and apple and falling out the front door
then make two return trips to grab my cell phone, bank keys, vitamins, sanity, and all else I managed to forget the first go-around.

I hop in the car to make my way to work with just exactly the three minutes I need to get there
only to be stopped by the elementary school's neon-vested, stop-sign brandishing, veteran volunteer crossing guards
every time,
without fail.

I scramble through the back door of the bank with seconds to spare
before breaking my self-allotted + or - 5 minute buffer
and spend the rest of my morning sneaking bites of breakfast in between small talk with the team, customers, dust bunnies, you name it
if it has ears, I will ask about its weekend, the weather, its grandkids, etc. etc.

I cruise home for lunch 
squeeze in an episode of Hulu, contemplate napping, then skip the nap to start a crock-pot dinner, call and catch up with a friend or two, or dream up our latest YW's craft
then speed back to the bank to practice opening accounts, school the bankers in scrabble, and listen to at least 3 grumpy customers decry debit cards, interest rates, savings accounts, national holidays, the Civil War, and our  "unwillingness" to sell stamps to women 
"If I was a man you'd give it to me!"  
You're right.
I'd give you directions to the post office, an apology, and a smile and call it a day because,
last I checked,
the federal government does not endorse Wells Fargo as a subsidiary of the U.S. Postal Service.
I'm just sayin'...

remember this Tiff?
By the time my feeble mind's ready to wave its white flag
and i have two hours + to go...
I somehow find my way home and back into Parker's arms
and make many empty promises and threats to never EVER go back.

I double-check our dinner menu to ensure I have everything I need to make it
all while resisting the urge to scarf down half our pantry
then lace up my tennies 
mentally prepare for the pain I'll face via Insanity or Gold's
and sprint off to try and tack on 10+ years to my life.

Parker and I sweat a few buckets worth before speeding home 
to ensure I have enough time to shower, finish dinner, and shovel it in despite my now lacking appetite,
so I can gather my MiaMaids and make it to YW's by 7:00 on the dot
or 7:05ish...
because it's me.

I chatter away the next two hours,
giggling over boys as the good cop,
corralling my crazy teens for clean-up as the bad.

And when we've finished with our impromptu post-activity presidency mini-meeting I make my way home and crash on the couch next to Parker.
who has been catching up on studying like a little angel and missing me every minute in between.
I muster up the courage to floss
every other night...I'm not as dedicated to the program as our dear Parker
then brush my teeth, wash my face, and add the finishing touch to my bedtime regime with a bit of Latisse
the bottle I bought for the wedding, never used, and am now trying to put to good use before it's expiration date.
The results...
I'm in love with my spidery long lashes.
My only concern...
how on earth I'll manage when that little bottle runs out.
It makes me sad to think of every returning to the little stump lashes I once had.
One of the many ways I'll learn the meaning of sacrifice in these early years of marriage...

I'm conscious just long enough to squeak in scripture study and prayer with Parker
which, last night, included a mini WWF match as Parker tried to dodge his husbanding duties of warming my frostbitten feet
before cuddling up in his arms and slipping into a peaceful slumber
again, so proud of him for finally mastering this.  its' the best part of my day!

only to be blasted away by my iPhone's island marimba alarm a short six hours later so I can relive this day 
all. over. again.
it's like Groundhog's day, really,
minus Punxsutawney Phil,
a piano,
and 100+ comedically unsuccessful suicide attempts.

I've wanted to be this girl
the one with the routine
the one who makes use of every single second of her day.

The girl who's 
working hard,
eating healthy,
working out,
playing wife
planning parties,
landing promotions,
cleaning house,
keeping up on current events,
visiting teaching,
lesson planning,
attending the temple,
catching up with family,
making time for friends,
magnifying her call,
growing her testimony,
loving her life.

These days are the closest I've ever come to being that girl.
And I'm happy.
I am.
so, so happy to finally be tackling my to-do list and laying it out like a linebacker
you could say I'm the Pendleton of "to-done" lists these days

somewhere along the line,
I lose sight of that last little box
which may, in fact, be the most important checkmark of all.
 without it, 
every other accomplishment seems quite small.

Loving life.
Whenever I'm dominating the day-to-day I lose a bit of this somewhere along the way.

I start to go a little stir crazy.
I'd give anything to mix it up.
anything to escape the tedium of the routine.

I feel like I need to do more, have more, see more, and learn more
about something, somewhere, someone.

I crave curveballs like 
social scenes
weekend plans
romantic dates
exotic vacations.

I long to take the "next step,"
to move on to whatever's just around the corner
be it a new season, a new position, a new school, a new city.

I want to break the routine just as soon as I've set it.
And I hate that...

I get what I want.
I get what I've worked for.
And then, 
it's not enough.

It's like I reach my best and immediately reset the bar higher
convincing myself I need to do more.
which is good.
it makes me grow,
keeps me from complacency,
and gives me the chance to reach new highs
and greater successes.

But it also keeps me from appreciating what I do have,
what I have become,
what I have achieved,
and how hard I worked to get there.

I am 99.9% certain this is Patrick from Spongebob
and that makes me laugh.
wise words from Mr. Starfish.

Is this just me?
Please tell me it's not.
Because I'm nearly certain adding 
"stop being crazy" 
to the to-do list will be my breaking point.
And I'm thinking once I'm broken,
there's not a chance I'll be checking that one off the list ever.

until then...
happy Wednesday!!!
looking forward to a Thursday just like it

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