Waiting for Time

‘Where does the time go?’ It’s one of my mother’s catch phrases. She used to say it at the end of the long summer holidays, during my school and university days. She would sing it again, sadly, on a Sunday afternoon when we were visiting each other on a long awaited weekend, in the days when I had an office job. And, when she was at her loneliest, she would begin to sigh it out almost as soon as I had arrived, later than expected, on a Saturday afternoon. ‘The weekend is almost over.’ I would roll my eyes, impatient with her for anticipating my departure on Sunday, rather than enjoying the moment we were sharing.

But now I have children of my own - and I have chosen to be a “stay at home mum” and, when I have the time, a writer, and I feel as though I spend so much time waiting - I get it.    I have even heard those same words fall from my own lips, and cringed. I can even predict myself saying them at the end of this year’s school summer holidays.

What am I waiting for?  10 to 9 when the school gates open and 3.15 when it’s picking up time; the unknown moment in the evening when my husband will return from work; the children’s bed time, which is almost as sporadic; but mostly for the time in the inbetween times, when I can do all the things which need doing, and then the things I really want to be doing, including writing.

My days seem to be eaten away, often waiting, for such things as: my youngest child to decide he is happy to get dressed, after a half hour battle for him to stop playing with his lego or his train set so that we can go through the door; or for the children to agree that we can leave the school playing field behind and actually go home.

Following an interesting Writers’ Lunch this week, I have resolved to turn over a new leaf.  I shall be “finding time” to write, rather than “waiting for time”.  That won’t be confined to my usual trick of staying up until 1am and beyond, when everyone else has gone to sleep.  I am not sure I can follow my colleague’s “speed ironing” routine, but other suggestions have enlightened me.

The new me has written this blog whilst sat: 

1. on a garden chair in front of my house, enjoying the sunshine while the children scooter up and down, listening to their giggles, smiling and waving and keeping a cautionary eye and ear out for cars, instead of standing there and just watching and thinking about all the other things I could usefully be doing, and shouting every five minutes ‘It’s time to come in now!’ with increasing irritation;
2. at the breakfast table, whilst the children carry out their usual painstaking routine of slowly eating their breakfast with eyes glued to the TV, without nagging them every couple of minutes to hurry up as its time to get dressed;
3. on the toilet (closed lid!) while the children play in the bath, just a little bit longer, then run around wearing their towels like superman capes before eventually relenting to put on their pyjamas and clean their teeth, while I smile at the cuteness of it all;
4. in the pub near the village hall where my daughter is attending a party, having spent some time chatting to other parents and watching my angel have fun with her friends (who says you can’t have everything?); and
5. on the sofa, next to my husband as he watches the World Cup Final, without sensing my brooding resentment (I could even bear a bit of punditry!).

It seems that “finding time” rather than “waiting for time” for writing, is so much more rewarding for everyone, so my idea that the school summer holidays is a time when I won’t have time to write, has rather turned on its head.  I am of course excited about spending time with the children and the adventures we will have, but I am also looking forward to the inbetween times when I would usually be waiting.  Rather than cringing when, at the end of the summer, I repeat my mother’s words “Where did the time go?,” I’ll be smiling.  It will go too fast.  It always goes too fast - but this time, I predict that, it won’t feel wasted.