The White Rabbit

I'm late. I'm late. For a very important date.  No time to say Hello. Goodbye.  I'm late, I'm late, I'm late.  -- 
The White Rabbit




I feel this is how I must look to the outside world: hands on head, brows furrowed, eyes closed in concentration, constantly checking the time and frantically running.  There is always a meeting to prepare for, an IEP or an IFSP to review, a therapist to call, a therapist to see, a bus to wait for, a question to ask, an appointment to schedule, a new therapy to research.  


And now, as Norrin is about to turn 5, I am in the midst of researching and touring schools, reviewing the NYS special education law and regulations, and preparing my case against the Committee of Special Education. 


There is still the supermarket to get to, the bills to pay, the laundry to wash, fold and put away, the apartment to clean and wait - did I lock the front door?  And while at work there's the document to revise, the daunting stack of papers to file, the conference call to schedule, the meeting to plan, the expense report to calculate, the bosses to appease.  And it's Tuesday night, my school night.  Did I read the handouts, bring my notebook, or complete my short story for submission?


There is dinner to make, dishes to wash, the boy to bathe, the bedtime story to read, all before its time to tuck the boy into bed and kiss him good night.  And then there's my husband. And all we want is at least 5 minutes at the end of our day where we can just be the people we were before we became parents.  Some days are more successful than others.   


I feel like I'm late for most things, as if there is always a countdown to something.  Like there is something terribly important I can't remember. Like there really is no time to say hello or goodbye.  I'm always trying to catch my breath, constantly scrolling down my mental to do list.