Children don’t multi-task. Unless food is being served, in which case they can throw, jump, dance, spin, talk incessantly and deliver an oral report on worm bins while they are chewing.
Ask a child to clean her room, carry a plate into the kitchen, take shoes to the closet or brush teeth before bedtime, however, and you will find God’s greatest example of living in the moment.
At the start of cleaning the room, there will surely be a rock that needs to be examined with the attention of a geologist. Should a stray puzzle piece be found, an entire 100-pieces of Cinderella and her prince will be assembled on the spot.
Shepherding shoes from living room floor to closet (our house is tiny; it’s not that far) requires the addition of a dance recital delivered with the single-minded focus of a prima ballerina.
Women are supposed to be great multi-taskers; apparently it doesn’t kick in until adulthood. It’s helpful for a while. I can cook a meal, clean the house and pay bills while simultaneously brainstorming plots with a fellow author or getting (or receiving) phone therapy from a womanfriend. I can pick up shoes AND do a dance recital. Somebody’s got to.
It’s tiring, though–all that simultaneous activity. I find I do it in my sleep now. I think I’m resting, but I’m still plotting the next book, figuring out bills, wondering how to wedge violin lessons in between gymnastics and ice skating, planning a birthday party. If you’re a woman, you know the drill.
You know how Shakespeare wrote that in old age we turn back into babies? Well, now that I’m menopausal, I think I’ll sleep while I’m sleeping. Perchance to dream…of sleeping.
Yes, I like this idea. I may even try eating while I’m eating. Talking to a friend while I’m talking to a friend. Turning off the news while I do yoga. I may even drop the five pairs of shoes I am lugging to the closet in between typing this, turn on Barbie Swan Lake and dance.