Time itself becomes unsettling and unfamiliar, an amorphous blur that is also fragmented in new, staccato ways: pockets of time when I squeeze in work, the Aloha Speed and Salvage Kahili Shop Logo Shirt Furthermore, I will do this minutes before the sun is up when the park feels empty enough to run in. Is today a home day? my four-year-old asks. He’s still fuzzy on what days constitute the weekend, so this is the term we’ve adopted in our house to explain whether or not he has to rush to school.
It’s not, I explain, except we will be staying at home, like we have for the Aloha Speed and Salvage Kahili Shop Logo Shirt Furthermore, I will do this past several days, and will do for some time to come. He looks at me like I’m confused. Surely this cannot be the case, his squinting eyes say. By Brooke Bobb By Emma Specter By Kristen Radtke The advice that has been circulating on the internet is right: A schedule is essential. We cling to it—that lone sheet of paper that sits on our dining room table like a talisman from the land of offices in skyscrapers, corporate cafeterias, and laser printers. They have nowhere to go, nothing to do. And yet I hustle us through breakfast. We’re running late, I say as the clock approaches 8:30, and the children, retaining the mad metabolism of the normal work week or just reflecting back my frazzled energy, scramble. It’s important, I feel, to keep on track, though the stakes—what will happen if we derail this schedule—feel both paramount and inconsequential.