Time and Capacity.

Two things that are not infinite.

I recently had a cringe-worthy encounter. One that made me flit my eyes away from the person speaking, as a way to deflect the words they were saying; yet later, in the dead of night, I could not stop replaying them.

It was a conversation that I think most stay-at-home moms hear at some point. To be fair, I don’t think the person who spoke them meant to cut me down when I was already at a low point, but they still stung, nonetheless.

After divulging to a complete stranger¹ at the airport that I was a military wife and stay-at-home mom (where I was currently attempting to survive a 4+ hour delay with my two small children, geriatric dog, and my mom—the true hero for helping me travel across the country), she made the dreaded comment.

“It must be nice to have so much time on your hands, you know, with being home.”

My eyes darted around the airport, my heart sank, and it was all I could do to not snap a snarky retort that contained something along the lines of, Well, I haven’t had the time, or privacy, to go to the bathroom alone in approximately four years, but sure, I have so much time on my hands.

//

Shortly after this lovely airport encounter, I saw an Instagram story where someone² said they had the time and capacity to take on more photography sessions.

Time and capacity. Capacity and time.

I turned the words over in my brain; shook them around. Separated them. Put them back together. Asked myself a lot of questions that I didn’t know how—or didn’t want—to answer.

What if you have the time, but no capacity?

What if you have the capacity, but no time?

Can you have one without the other?

Or are they tied together?

What happens when you have enough of both?

What happens when you have neither?

//

We have made all sorts of advancements as humans. Some are great, like indoor plumbing, air conditioning, cars, and vaccines. Others are not-so-great, like AI, social media, cigarettes, and addictive technology.

Despite all of the progress we’ve made, humans have yet to figure out how to create more time. I would also argue that we aren’t great at recognizing when we are hitting max-capacity.

We prefer to run ourselves into the ground.

//

Confession: I did not handle the 4+ hour delay at the airport well. At all. I ugly-cried at least three times. Definitely sobbed at least twice. I was that person who the gate agents disliked for my incessant questions and would likely gossip about later.³ I said more prayers in that day than I had combined in the last week. I sent even more text messages to my husband and friends—a mix of venting, cursing, and begging for prayer.⁴

I have been past the point of breaking a lot in my life. I don’t say this to brag—I wish it wasn’t the case. But I don’t find it surprising, considering I’ve moved about every two years for the last decade and have gone through eight (?) deployments with my husband.⁵

In this particular situation, my husband had just left for a month-long training mission—the first longer one since we had both of our kids. This was also my first time traveling to my hometown with both of my kids and dog. Thankfully, my mom graciously offered to help me and be an extra set of hands. I truly don’t know what I would have done without her.

The week leading up to our airport fiasco included my husband leaving (with his departure date and time changing approximately 103 times, per usual) end-of-school-year festivities for my daughter (aka prepping teacher gifts and participating in end-of-school-year parties), purging/organizing/cleaning the house (so it would be really nice when we came home—a mistake in retrospect), packing (no small feat when you’re leaving for three weeks with little children and a geriatric dog who is perpetually in a bad mood these days), and doing all the things normally required to keep our family and home running—all while solo-parenting, with the extra demand and stress of our toddler processing her daddy being gone.

What was physically required of me to prepare for our trip was heavy; the mental load was astronomical.

Then I drove seven hours, by myself, with my two small children and grumpy dog, to get to the Dallas airport, where my mom was waiting to help me fly to my hometown.

To put it mildly, I showed up at the airport already broken and at max-capacity. I just didn’t know it until delay after delay after delay after delay kept rolling in.

When you have to be the strong one, you don’t have the option to be broken. When you’re solo-parenting and having to juggle it all, there is no limit to your capacity.

You have no choice but to just keep pressing on.

//

The carrying-full-plates metaphor, and the juggling-glass-and-plastic-balls metaphor, are some of my favorites. In case you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a quick explanation.

We are all carrying plates. Some of our plates appear heavy; some appear light. But the only person who can really determine the weight of the plate is the one who is carrying them. Not anyone else.

We are all juggling multiple balls—parenting, work, household responsibilities, scheduling appointments, coordinating the social calendar, volunteering, hobbies, etc. Some of these balls are very important (glass balls). Some are less important (plastic balls). It is imperative to differentiate which balls are glass and which are plastic, so when your load is too much, you know which ones to drop—so you don’t break the ones that matter. The only person who can determine which ball is glass or plastic is the person juggling them. But how we determine which ball is glass or plastic can impact those around us, especially if the ball directly effects them.

I think we tend to judge each other’s plates too harshly, and we assume all of the balls we’re juggling are glass.

//

I don’t know how heavy your plate is.

I don’t know how many of the balls you’re juggling are glass or plastic. You might still be figuring out which ones are which.

But what I do know, is that it’s okay to set your plate down. And to stop juggling glass and plastic balls. It doesn’t make you weak or less of a mom or person.

It makes you human.

//

I know as a stay-at-home-mom, it appears I have a lot of time on my hands.

I know it appears I have a lot of capacity because I do what is required of me to keep our family and home running, to keep writing, to keep up with my continuing medical education (even though I’m not currently practicing), in addition to a lot of volunteer work I do behind the scenes.

But appearances aren’t always accurate.

//

No one likes the word “boundary.”

It leaves a dirty taste in our mouths, almost like it’s a swear word. To set a boundary implies you don’t want to deal with someone or something. That is usually true. Instead of bristling when someone creates a boundary, I think it’s better to ask why.

We are surrounded by boundaries, for our own protection, almost everywhere:

—Guard rails on the road

—TSA security lines

—Caution tape around construction

—Fences around pools

—Railings or small walls at the edge of a drop-off

—Screen mesh or glass at the zoo, that separates us from the animals

Boundaries in these situations are meant to protect us—to keep us physically safe from potential harm.

Boundaries aren’t necessarily selfish, bad, or as a way to avoid someone or something. They can be used to protect what we value the most.

How much do you value your time and capacity?

And what if the boundary you need to make is within yourself?

//

I have set down my plates to evaluate my glass and plastic balls. Some balls I thought were glass are actually plastic. And some glass balls were on the verge of shattering because I precariously put them on the edge of a very heavy plate.

I’ve rearranged the plates; recalibrated their weight. My glass balls are firmly on their own plate, smack in the center, with nothing else balancing on their plate. I tossed some plastic balls in the trash, without so much as a glance, unlikely to be found again. A few plastic balls I sadly tucked into a storage bin, but knowing it’s what is needed for this season of life with small children underfoot and a highly-demanding time for my family. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to rearrange my plates again to make room for them.

//

I take a breath after making these adjustments. I realize that I now have time on my hands, that I can fill as I see fit.

I feel a bit lighter; I tell my husband I have the capacity to make a meal for a friend in need on a moment’s notice.

//

Time and capacity.

Capacity and time.

What a marvelous feeling to have a little bit extra of both.

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1. While this person was overall kind, the implication in her tone was evident. Mental note to not talk to strangers in the line at an airport McDonalds while attempting to survive the most horrendous delay.

2. Shoutout to Ashlee Gadd—check out her work here, I promise you won’t regret it. Actually, you might, because you will likely spend the next few hours reading some fabulous writing.

3. To be fair, American Airlines delayed us in 20 minute increments for 4+ hours for a supposedly broken exit row seat that “would only take a few more minutes to fix.” The gate agents would only make an announcement after I would ask for an update, typically after 30-45 minutes had passed. This went on for hours until they gave up and got us a new plane… That was then delayed 30 minutes while waiting for the snack cart to show up. I wish I was joking.

4. I hate to admit this, but I am much better at praying in desperate times than any other time. To have a good, good God who loves me anyway despite this is a grace I am undeserving of.

5. I am not sure how many deployments we have gone through together at this point. But it’s around eight or nine, and each one was a beast in its own way.