Time

I always needed more time. I was always complaining about not having enough time. I could never do what I had to do, because I didn't have the time. Much less could I do what I wanted to do, because there was no time. Self-care? No time. 

And for those things that I did need to find time for, it was always tightly scheduled. Garden work? Hurry, there is little time. Reading to my children? Only one book, there is no time. Dessert after a meal? Quicky, there is no time. Showering or bathing in the tub? Not so long, we don't have time. 

Always this excuse, always this word, always this made-up concept. Made-up, yes, but absolutely necessary. My kids, for example, want to eat dinner and chat and also play a game and then eat seconds and then have dessert and then a hug and then cuddle and then please-don't-make-me-brush-my-teeth and then also read a book together and also read a book alone and listen to a song and listen to a story book and ... there are only so many hours in the day, and there are only so many things we can achieve in a specific amount of time.

Time.

And that's just what my children demand from me. I have not mentioned that I work (part-time), that I have a wonderful social circle with friends who are my family to whom I must also dedicate time. And laundry, ohsomuchlaundry - how many people live in my house? Although I can't say that "the dishes won't wash themselves" because they kind of do (thanks you, DishWashingMachineGod1), I still need to load and unload the machine. I still need to clean and service my vacuum-cleaning-robot and my lawn-mowing-robot. I need to set the table and clean the table. I need to make sure the lights are turned off, lock the doors, close the windows, that the coffee machine is ready for tomorrow (I just realized how many machines I have in my daily life... am I the real-life Jetsons?). 

I have a million things on my to-do list that I either don't get to check off on time, or that repeat themselves the next day, and the next, and the next. 

Until there came a day when I woke up and had all the time in the world. Not only did I not have anything planned, not only had I already finished the "daily tasks", but also I was alone.

Alone and with time.

Which can also be read as, 

with time and alone.

I woke up and did not have to get up. There was nothing to do (Saturday, no work) and the kids weren't here. The coffee machine was set to start brewing automatically, so I did not have to get out of bed. The laundry had been washed and hung the day before. The garden was ok. I turned on the lawn-mower robot and the vacuum-robot with the App on my phone from my bad, still under the covers, so the daily chores were still happening.

At some point I got up and watched a not-rated-for-kids movie on the TV, with volume on (I usually watch those on my phone, with headphones, so that the kids won't hear the bad words or the violence). I had my breakfast on the couch. Then I painted a wall (!). Then I showered, got dressed and went out. By this time, I had not said one single word out loud since I woke up. The silence, the peace, the space, the freedom, the  T I M E.

 I finally had what I wanted. Time. My, how precious. How invaluable.

But also... 

...how lonely.

Because on that Saturday I did all the things, all the things. But when evening came, my only thought was my children. I called to say goodnight and it was lovely, they were happy, they were safe and warm and loved. Only that they weren't with me. I did not have my kids, but I had time. 

What a horrible thing to write. To think. I exchanged my kids for time.

Sunday started out good, but once I opened my eyes and realized that I had yet one more day of TIME, and yet one more day without my children, the question inevitably crawled from my head into my heart: is time really that valuable? Has it been worth it? 

Of course everyone has an answer to this question, and every answer is valid in and of itself- no judgement, no dirty looks, no comments from my side. For me, in my very personal opinion, the free time that I was gifted does not override the love I have for my children, nor does it replace the lack of time I have when I am with them. If I am gifted this "free space" every two weeks to recharge and decompress and sleep and paint and - whatever. Whatever is, or isn't, on my list for that day... that TIME will help me be a better mom. 

I don't know when you are reading this, but I am writing this on Sunday at almost 11 pm, and I will see my kids again in about 9 hours. When I see them Monday morning, I will be a better mom. I will still not have time when I am with them, because every second that I have, I spend trying to make their lives magical and adventurous and wondeful and, yes, also filled with routine and cleanliness and homework and house chores. But my time will be spent with them, for them. Every two weeks I will get a little of time for me. And I am ok with that. Because "you only have 18 summers" with your children, and Rolfie has already had 8, which means that, with luck, I have only 10 more summers with him. I have only 13 more summers with Christoph. And if that means that I have to give up my time to be able to invest time in them, with them, then I will gladly do so.

What is time, anyway, if not an illusion?

And what is life, anyway, if not but a dream? 

Then let me enjoy this timeless dream with my family, until it is time to wake up.

And then, I will have all the time in the world.