It's the Vocation, Stupid

I did not set an alarm for this morning, because it's Saturday and I didn't have any morning commitments.  It seemed like it would be nice to wake up gradually together and spend some relaxing time in our room before the kids needed us. But it's still a workday for our second eldest, who dropped in to say hi before she left for work.  And the younger kids were rioting downstairs.  And the cat had decided that some laundry waiting in front of the washing machine was probably an exciting new kind of alternate litter box for when she didn't feel like walking the six feet to her actual waste facilities. So we dragged ourselves out of bed and made coffee and fed small boys and got out the bleach spray to clean up after the cat.

And one of the little boys has taken to wearing his sister's outgrown converse, and so he needs shoe tying lessons, as all boys do when they move on from velcro sneakers.  

It seems lately like I keep bouncing back and forth between what I'd like to be doing and what I remind myself it's my vocation to do.

I'd really like to be reading some books today.  I've started a couple of really interesting ones that I'm both learning from and that are making me want to write.

But when I actually get to sit down and do desk work this afternoon what I need to do is plan out school assignments for the coming year for the 12th, 10th, and 8th graders.  

I'd like to work on some writing while I'm fresh this morning.

But what I actually need to do is get the yardwork done before it gets too hot and then finish installing the lighting in the basement and then once the basement is lighted get things put away down there and then come upstairs and help with the house cleaning and then do some grocery shopping and make dinner while MrsDarwin is off singing the 4:30 mass because another cantor couldn't make it.

And the upstairs bathroom is waiting in half demolished state, needing the second round of demolition and then the rebuilding -- which right now as demolition becomes more complicated is seeming like surely it must be the easier part but probably won't seem easier when the time comes.

The fact is that we have seven children, ranging from near adults who need to talk about jobs and college courses to a four year old who really needs to get going with toilet training so we can stop buying diapers for the first time in nineteen years. And we chose to house them in a beautiful old house that needs constant work rather than a new one which can sit for a decade or two before it needs serious renovation.

A lot of other things seem just so important.  It would be important to write that article.  It would be important to finish a book.  It would be important to read and think about important things.  And maybe that would matter if I hadn't taken on a lot of other obligations which are, to be clear, good obligations, and things I would not want to look back and realize I hadn't done. 

But you cannot do everything, even though I can never fully admit this to myself.  Although I could, for sure, do a better job as a parent and a worker and a writer and reader and all those things I want to do if I break my time up into organized chunks and put the phone away and never get distracted -- even should I manage to pull off such superhuman feats of organization the fact is that you cannot have it all.  You can't chase all the dreams.  You have to decide what's important.  And sometimes you don't even have to decide because you actually decided a long time ago so there's not much point in thinking about it now.

So now my timer tells me that I've been writing this post for twenty minutes, and it's time to move on to the yard work.  Vocation is calling.