Priorities: My How They've Changed!

There was a time, when I didn't have all of these distractions. It was just me and a mangy black cat, living on the edge of nowhere and sleeping as late as we liked. But that was a long time ago; six years, to be exact.


Now it's all about the kid, and the dog, and the overwhelming desire to disappear into a movie theater for an entire afternoon without having to lift a finger. But that never happens. Most of my days are spent right here; sitting in front of a computer screen, pecking at a keyboard and praying for a solid four-hours of uninterrupted silence. But THAT never happens... And I just KNOW that it never will.

I used to live in a townhouse that had an office that was completely separate from the rest of the house. When I went down to work, it was with the understanding that I would remain there, uninterrupted, until it was time to come out. Of course, it was easy because I was single and lived alone. Then I started dating my (now) husband–and all hell broke loose. Within months, I traded in my bachelorette pad branch for a half-assed dining room outpost in South Florida.

<<Ring, ring>> "Yeah... I'd like to order 1200 long-sleeved black shirts and a chicken salad sandwich on pumpernickel?!"

It was fine for what it was, as long as you didn't stand too close to the flames while writing up an order. But at some point; the coffee pot beach discussions among visitors, while I attempted to calculate an appropriate mark-up on a twelve-thousand dollar order, became more of a breach of contract than a harmless interference. I was going nowhere–and getting there fast.

Before I knew it, I was pregnant and in the middle of a renovation, which ultimately turned into a short-sale that left us packing up our lives and re-routing them back to Georgia. And within a few years; we had a dog, a feisty three-year-old, and a house that was three sizes, too small. 

And here we are.

But the strange thing about all of this insanity is that I don't mind. My office is the size of a toothbrush bristle, and I can see my daughter sleeping through the Jack and Jill bathroom mirror that we share when I'm trying to watch Netflix in bed–but I don't care. It's funny what you learn about yourself after having kids. What used to be the most important thing in the World to you is now stored in a decrepit shipping box somewhere up in the attic. And ironically, you'll probably never look for it again.

If I could have my life to live over, I'd probably only change one thing: And that would be my priorities, which were completely off-base and misaligned from the get-go. I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me when my daughter walks into my office every fifteen minutes to ask what time it is. And I'd have to be a complete jackass to stay there whenever she needed my help washing her baby's hair. But it wouldn't be a life worth living without those constant interruptions, and between you and me, I'm glad I get them...

Even if I never get one thing done for the rest of it.



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