Time.
Where does it go. The sands in the hourglass.
"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day" as David Gilmour sang.
Today, I rant about time and the management and keeping of it. it's been a recurring theme around these parts for some time now that we are always late. For everything. Since The Sprite was born it has only gotten worse. And now he is off to pre-school in the mornings, there are added complications and distractions to deal with.
Subsequently I have been getting to work later and later. The little fella just loves to help out. In fact he insists. Whether it is making my tea or taking the trash out, The Helping Hand of Sprite is there slowing me down. Trying to get everything done and get out the door in time without tripping over Little Monster has revealed an epic weakness in our system. We are all lolligaggers.
So it did not go unnoticed by the Power Behind The Door at work and I got a stiff talking to, well actually quite a limp talking to considering. ElectricMomy and I have tryed to work something out, some kind of system that works for everyone. With her off to full-time employment again it's tough getting a schedule where we can satisfy the needs of Corporate Amerika (which feeds and clothes us), yet allows us to deliver The Sprite to and from school safely and timely.
I'm sure it is nothing new and families the world over have to deal with exactly the same problems. It is also someting Corporate Amerika is fully aware of, it being nothing new to them either, so one would expect some level of understanding on their part. But also, I know that when The Sprite starts 'real' education we will have to be much more disiplined. School starts earlier and the stakes are higher than simply missing sandbox time.
I'm hoping these early years tune us to the fina art of getting up and out at a decent hour in the morning.
And with that being said, I'll leave it to Mr. Gilmour to take us out.
"Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say."
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