I need a 27-hour day, please

There just aren’t enough hours in the day. I’ve been so overwhelmed, in fact, that I am just now sitting down to pen this column, less than twenty hours before my deadline. Even my yoga class couldn’t settle me entirely. If you have kids, I’m sure you’ll relate.

For starters, I’m trying to manage four children in four different athletic programs. Not surprisingly, none of them wanted to do the same thing, darn it, so my husband and I must hold morning briefings over who has to be where and when. It’s become sort of a sick logic problem: If Geoffrey has to be in Noblesville for indoor soccer practice and Andrew has a swim meet at Purdue, how will Corinne get to her volleyball game in Lawrence by five so that Maddie isn’t late for basketball in Carmel?

And of course, when our kids decide they’d also like to try art club, French club, the Green Team environment club, winter track prep, saxophone and dance (“If I’m going to be on Broadway, mother, I simply must take ballet, tap and jazz!”), what do we do? Well, just what you’d expect from parents who clearly have issues saying “no.” We sign the permission slip, pay the fees, and add six more events to the calendar.

If simultaneous on-time arrival at various parts of the state wasn’t challenging enough, I’ve thrown in my own ball of crazy. In addition to the aforementioned yoga and my day-job, I thought it’d be fun to coach, volunteer at a food pantry and make some extra cash by tutoring. (The book sales just aren’t cutting it, and I still have my heart set on these fabulous black riding boots!) And Doo has his own hands full with work, the house, and our new puppy. He also thought now to be the perfect time to quit smoking. [Pause for dramatic effect.] Exactly.

I know, I know. We made our king-sized bed, now we must lie in it. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I really am going to lose my mind. That or develop severe lower back issues from the amount of time spent in my dilapidated mini-van. Even my phone has decided to throw in the towel, having determined yesterday that desperate texting to organize last-minute carpooling was just too much trouble, thank you very much.

At least I can wallow in self-pity and know that some of you will empathize, even while judging me. Parenting is tough, and schlepping kids around town is exhausting, but I’m certain we’d regret not helping our children explore their interests when possible. So we’ll suck it up, invest in Doan’s, and pray that three hours miraculously get added to each day. Peace out.

Danielle Wilson

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, the same year Dick Nixon was elected. Along with my twin sister and three younger sisters, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years. (Holy Mother, pray for me.) I spent two years as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado until I wised up and transferred to a more normal school, Indiana University, where I received a B.A. in history and a teaching license just for funsies. In 2001, I officially entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms to care for my two-year old son and newborn twins. I have mentally blocked all of 2002 and most of 2003. In 2004, I received a Master’s degree in U.S. History from I.U.P.U.I. and a fourth child from my should-have-had-that-vasectomy-sooner husband. From 2005 until mid-2010, I played Super Mom in the yet-to-be released indie film "Provide Daycare for Your Sister-in-Law's Children Because You Don't Have Enough to Do Already." I returned to teaching this fall at an undisclosed Indianapolis school where thankfully very few parents know who I am. I am considering developing a bad habit.

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