The Queen of Multi-tasking

I can do seventeen things at once. Occasionally eighteen, depending on the circumstances, of course. It’s a talent, really. I can simultaneously cook dinner, do the laundry, unload the dishwasher, watch the news, update my iPod and surf the internet. Okay that’s only six things, but that’s just one example. Whether it’s juggling chores at home or tackling projects at work, I always approach tasks from the most logically efficient angle. I even brush my teeth while I pee. I am the Queen of Multi-tasking. It’s a gift.

Sometimes.

Other times, I think my multi-tasking tendencies are just a manifestation of undiagnosed ADD. Seriously. I’m like an overeager puppy with too many toys. And while I may look like I’m getting things accomplished, in reality I’m just running in circles. My mornings, for example. I wake up and focus on the first task at hand – my morning run. Now, running doesn’t really allow for multi-tasking, which is perhaps why I like it (though whether I actually like it or am simply a masochist is still up for debate). During my run I am calm and focused. But then I get back to the house and the multi-tasking begins. I start the coffee first, then turn on the shower to let the water heat up while I take off my clothes and sort the laundry. This usually leads to making the bed too. But by now the shower has been running for five minutes so I’m wasting precious hot water. I scurry to the shower.

The next fifteen minutes or so proceed much like any other woman’s morning routine. It’s after I’m dressed that the ‘fluttering’ begins. I finish making the bed. I gather up the pile of laundry to throw in the machine. I go to the kitchen to start the laundry and get much-needed coffee. I often get as far as putting the clothes in the washing machine but then move onto the coffee without actually putting detergent into the washer or turning it on. So I pour coffee, then move on to making and drinking a fruit smoothie while preparing lunches for my husband and me. (Meanwhile, said husband has finished his breakfast and is lounging in front of the TV doing a little multi-tasking of his own – flipping between CNN and Sports Center).

I finish the lunches. Realize my coffee is cold. Try to slug it back while gathering up the various items and bags that will accompany me to the office. Roger flips off the TV, carries his dishes to the sink and offers to take my bags to the car which he does while I wash his breakfast dishes, do three more laps around the house, and then join him in the garage. Inevitably, I will have forgotten something in the house (water bottle, purse, cell phone, lunch, realize that I never started the washing machine, etc.) and will have to run back in before we can actually leave. That’s my morning.

Thursday was a morning much like any other, only the maid was coming. This should make me a bit more relaxed right? But come on, don’t be silly, everyone knows you have to tidy up before the maid comes (Roger assures me this is not the case, but I just can’t stop myself).

So I’m fluttering around the house in my usual post-run-get-ready-make-lunches-drink-coffee-wash-dishes routine, and I’m in the kitchen when I realize that my cell phone is still in the bedroom and if I don’t get it while I’m thinking about it I will probably leave without it. But once in the bedroom, I see the pile of laundry that I have yet to put on and think I should go ahead and get it started so the maid doesn’t have to (Why? I don’t know!). As I gather up the laundry, I notice the book that I’m almost finished with sitting on the foot of the bed where I have strategically placed it so as not to forget to bring it with me so I have something to read when I take my niece to her scrapbooking class this afternoon. Despite my armful of laundry, I grab the book too in order to save myself another trip to the bedroom. Multi-tasking, see?

I return to the kitchen to put the laundry in the machine – for once remembering to put soap in and actually turn it on. But now I realize that I forgot to get my phone which was, of course, the original purpose for my mission to the bedroom (forgetting the original task is a common problem with my multi-tasking). I go back to the bedroom. I get the phone. I throw my gym bag over my shoulder and grab my purse, lunch and water bottle and head to the car (my laptop is still in the car where I’ve been leaving it so as not to be tempted to get online in the evenings...mission accomplished, by the way). I dump everything in the car and realize I forgot the stupid book. I run back into the house but I don’t see it on the counter and don’t really have time to hunt for it. I leave the house in a whirlwind, barely remembering to kiss my husband who is still camped out on the couch.

Fast forward eight hours to me at the shopping center where my niece is attending her scrapbooking class. Since I didn’t bring my book, I’m window shopping in the center while I wait for her to finish. My phone rings. It’s Roger.

“Do you know where your book is?” he asks.

He obviously has the answer to this question, and clearly, he finds it humorous.

“Did you find it in the driveway or something? Did I leave it on the roof of the car when I drove off?”

“Um, noooo.”

I wait for him to tell me where it is, but he’s clearly enjoying this far too much to end the suspense.

“Where is it, Roger? What did I do now?”

“The maid found it in the washing machine!” The sound of his laughter makes me want to jump through the phone and strangle him. “Was there a reason you wanted to wash your book? Wait, isn’t this the book you borrowed from Mum?” This somehow makes it even funnier.

“I’ll buy her another one.” I say, fuming. I’m not sure why just yet, but I am sure this is Roger’s fault…somehow.

“It’s okay, Robyn,” he says, finally realizing that I’m not seeing the humor of the situation. “I might be able to salvage some of it – at least enough so you can finish it. I know you were really enjoying it.”

“Just throw it away,” I snap. “I don’t want to see it. I’ll go to the shop now and buy a new copy.”

“Okay,” he says, and the confusion in his voice sends a pang of guilt through me. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I grumble before closing my cell phone.

It’s not fair, I know, but I tend to blame Roger for, well, everything. It’s just easier than admitting I might be less than perfect myself. So, I rationalize that if Roger would do just a fraction of all the crap that I do in the morning, then maybe I wouldn’t be frazzled enough to put a New York Times Best Seller in the washing machine! I spend my drive home honing this argument and feel adequately prepared to hurl the blame at him when I walk through the door. I’m ready for a fight.

But in typical Roger style, he nods as he listens to my argument and admits he could be a bit more helpful. He then calmly makes suggestions that might ease my usual morning ‘fluttering.’ One suggestion being to actually let the maid do laundry and wash dishes on the day that she comes. He points out that many of the tasks I set out to do, don’t always need to be done at the moment I decide to do them.

He’s right. I know this about myself. And I’ve always been this way, I guess, but particularly since moving here. I think because I no longer have a crazy-stressful job, I feel obligated to create crazy-stress for myself at home. And I do create it. I know I do. And I'm working on it, but I just can’t seem to stop myself…after all, it would be a shame to let so much multi-tasking talent go to waste, right?

Then again, after sending A Thousand Splendid Suns through the spin cycle, I'm starting to think maybe I'm not quite as talented as I thought...

PS Those of you with children are probably laughing hysterically that I think my mornings are hectic. I truly cannot imagine trying to get a little person ready and out the door as well as myself. This is part of the reason I don’t have children. I honestly don’t know how you do it…and all without pouring coffee in the baby bottle or packing diapers in your laptop bag. I'm in awe.