Sorry for the long layoff. It won't happen again, promise.
It's been a busy few weeks here. In the last month Mrs. Blackwell and I moved, started new jobs and our little guy started day care. Life has become a series of tasks tackled as they arise with little time for planning ahead.
And the string of little jobs to tend to has been long.
|Pictured: free time.|
Also, when we first arrived here I was in the midst of a full on job search so there was that little matter to tend to as well.
In the center of this little storm was our son. In need of changing, feeding, attention and play time. When you write it all down, it can seem like there isn't enough time in the day for all of this.
So it was strange for me to see in the course of the last month just how much having the little guy has helped me with my time.
And, in retrospect, I don't know what I did with my time before we had him. Or perhaps, I'm just a tad embarrassed about what I did with my time before we had him.
There are those folks who, at all times, are productive. It's in their DNA. They are always tidying, organizing, learning, polishing and, in general, being useful. In their downtime they make things; they produce.
My wife is one of these people, so I've seen one up close. Conversely, I am not one of these people.
No sir. If left by myself an extraordinary set of circumstances must transpire to see me put on pants. I kill time in ways that make you pity time.
"Roadhouse" is on? I'm in.
There's a football game on? Done.
Perhaps I could get online and play some Black Ops? I stink at video games but, maybe by the time I'm 42 I'll be good? There's only one way to find out.
Maybe we could use Wikipedia and track down information about that cartoon we watched when we were kids but no one else seems to remember? Yes. Yes. Yes.
Since getting married I've had fewer of these days. And since having the boy, even fewer still. But, I've had a few and invariably they all end the same way. My wife calls me from the car, tells me she's about an hour from home and asks, "So, whatcha up to?"
A simple question with an awful, awful answer. Too ashamed to admit the sad reality that, frankly, I can't remember what I've done because I've done nothing, I proffer some vague description about "watching a bit of TV and tidying up the house."
I then proceed to sprint around the house in a mad dash to clean it up and hide the sad reality I've spiraled into in just 24 hours.
|If you haven't heard of it, your life is incomplete.|
I'd rather be changing a diaper then watching Patrick Swayze beat up an entire town for 90 minutes. And "tummy time" is infinitely more fun than tracking down information about "Voltron: Defender of the Universe."
And, while I've tried and tried and tried, I stink at Black Ops. The laughs of the teenagers who beat me with regularity tell me so. And, really, I'm not confident the people in my life would share my sense of pride and accomplishment if was was excellent at video games.
So now, whenever Mrs. Blackwell takes off for a while and leaves me with our son, I'm spending my time as productively as I ever have. When she takes the boy with her however....