I felt like my head would explode. Or my feet would fall off. Or my arms would give out. Or I would just fall asleep right where I was sitting. In yet another meeting.
Sundays have become my meeting days. Jumping from one to the next, with a baby on my hip and a diaper bag that seems much heavier than it should be. If the meeting is with all ladies, I can nurse the child right at the meeting. Otherwise I am scrambling in the 15 minutes between to get her fed and changed and ready for the next one.
When I finally reach my home, my husband opens the door for me and offers a hand and a kiss. All I want to do is sit and stare at the wall. But the lists of "To Do's" grew quickly at each meeting and if I stop and sit, there is a chance I won't ever get anything done. So I start right away. Call this person, email that one. Look up Christmas stories for the party or a song for the kids to sing.
Sometimes, I wonder what really is the point of all the busyness. Is there a point? Or is it like the movies say. Suburbia with it's matching houses and crazy neighbors, where everyone spends their time doing the same things over and over again, with little purpose but to keep ourselves busy.
But I don't really believe that. My to do list is not full of senseless things to fill my time. It is full of reminders to go talk to that child, who in class seemed so quiet and maybe a little bit lonely. It has reminders to make sure my neighbors remember the Christmas party that I am helping organize; or ideas of who would sing so pretty for that party. It is full of ways to improve, be more efficient, ideas that I had to be more thoughtful and what I could do for a friend.
I am grateful for my life. That I can see the people around me who I can help and love. And maybe each thing I do takes a piece of me so that by the time I get home, I wonder if I have anything left to give. But then I remember that I do it to help other peoples lives be a little happier, a little less lonely, and maybe even a little easier. And that makes me happy.