Franklin Covey Mom

At bedtime, after I’ve bathed and moisturized Luca, after I’ve read him his current favorite book four times, after he’s downed his sippy of non-dairy milk (“night night,” as he calls his drink), I lie on his floor-bound twin mattress and pretend to sleep as he shakes off the energy of the day and settles in for the night.

He romps around the room a bit—some nights that means emptying his sock or diaper drawer and announcing, “Sock!” “Diaper!”—and then, as he gets sleepy, he starts to roll around the bed and chatter.

New favorite toys.

“Bye, bye leab,” he said tonight, referring to the fallen leaves covering our housing area.

“Vvvvvvvv! Vvvvv! Beep beep!”

“Mmmmmeh,” he mooed from his downward dog pose, imitating the Korean onomatopoeia for a cow’s noise, part of a favorite book.

“Boom!” he cried, code for plopping down on his bed.

The chatter began to fade, and he spoke once more about the leaves. “Oh, leab,” he said softly. “Oh, leab.”

I'm not kidding; he absolutely loves leaves.

As I kept pretending to sleep, one eye peaking in a vain effort to protect myself from the inevitable head-butt to the cheekbone, I realized he was simply processing his day.

You know how some people can simply shut off the day and fall asleep when their head hits the pillow (ahem, Joe)? I am not one of those people, and apparently neither is Luca.

When I close my eyes at night, things I’ve seen, said or done dance around my brain. Especially television shows. If I’ve watched a show that is disturbing on some level, I have to sift through the images and language, allowing it to run through—and hopefully out of—my mind before I can fall asleep.

This nighttime reflection has been nagging at me for a few months; I have a growing sense of dissatisfaction with how I use my time. No, not the time I spend with Luca—I don’t want to change that.

This little man is way too much fun.

I mean when he’s asleep. After I’ve spent hours pouring myself out emotionally and physically, which is the nature of life as the primary caretaker of a toddler.

I suspect no one would blame me for using that precious naptime and post-bedtime to sit around and zone out. No one would blame me if I use that time to catch up with household duties before plopping on the couch to watch a mediocre TV show for a little while, or to browse Facebook.

It’s gotten harder to do much of anything else in my “free” time these days, now that Luca walks and communicates his preferences more clearly. It’s hard to explain exactly why that is, but with the joy of watching him learn comes a brand of emotional exhaustion I wasn’t expecting.

I had hoped I would have more time to exercise, to read and—especially—to write as Luca grew. I had hoped staying home would provide me the creative space to let my imagination flourish.

But it turns out imagination takes a back seat to endless household chores that seem to fill every single spare moment. It turns out imagination takes a back seat to that comfy couch and easy access to Netflix and Hulu.

Mothering is a lot of work. Babyhood and toddlerhood are demanding phases. It’s OK if I don’t accomplish anything on a personal level outside of my familial responsibilities, which are accomplishments in their own right.

True.

But.

Even though I’m tired and easily bogged down at home, I want to write. I want to read. I want to exercise. I want the things that float through my mind before I drift off to sleep to be constructive. Creative. Exciting.

If I want those things, emotional exhaustion is a hurdle to overcome. Household chores must be put in their place as tasks. I need to limit my Internet time.

I have to plan ahead to make room for creativity.

When I’ve worked in an office of any sort, I've been all about systems and efficiency. Outlook’s color-coded to-do list and calendar were my best friends. In my personal life, though, I prefer spontaneity and less pressure. I prefer getting things done when I feel like getting them done. I prefer deciding what to make for dinner based on what happens to be in the fridge. I write my to-dos on a dry-erase board or a random sticky note.

Today, I realized I need to Franklin Covey my personal life.

I need to set goals. Schedule the “big rocks” I want to accomplish before the less-important daily tasks that now consume my time. Figure out a central calendar system. Prioritize so I know what to do when Luca falls asleep, rather than defaulting to the old reliable remote control.

Today, I filled out November’s calendar with a menu of Luca-friendly dinners. I decided which days I should go to the Commissary. I broke this week’s naptimes into blocks of food preparation, exercise, writing and reading. I planned at least a small task for each evening. I scheduled time to respond to email and watch Parenthood.

I’m not sure how this will go. I’m sure I’ll need to make adjustments and be flexible within my plan.

But tonight, at least, my thoughts can be empowered when my head hits that pillow. Hopeful.