The Efficiency of Inefficiency

So, a long time ago I saw this movie,

Cheaper By the Dozen.

The old one.

And, truthfully, all I remember is one scene where the father made the mother take a stopwatch and time him while he buttoned-up his vest.

First from the top down,

And then from the bottom up.

He wanted to know which way was faster.

And by how much.

He resolved to evermore button his vest in the more efficient way,

In order to store away those discrepant seconds,

Like money in the bank.

Because, seriously, we all know that two-tenths of a second really adds up.

Anyway.

In that moment,

I really identified with that man.

And his quest for efficiency.

I know, I know.

This comes as a complete shock.

One, because I'm sure none of you knew that I actually wear button-down vests enough that two-tenths of a second really make an impact in my life.

And two, because those who know me well (and actually those who know me not so well), are highly aware of the fact that punctuality is not my strong suit.

And punctuality is often equated with efficiency.

But,

Here's where I'm deeply misunderstood.

You see, like this man, the father of 12 children, I like the idea of cramming as much into my allotted 24 hours as possible.

I've actually done a little research on how those who are chronically late actually tend to be overly ambitious with their time.

My problem comes in that I don't make my husband sit with his stopwatch and time every move I make.

I subject myself to my own terribly faulty estimations.

No, I have never in my life been able to get ready in 15 minutes.

But for some inexplicable reason, I live my life in this self-deception.

So I spend the other 45 minutes that it really takes to get ready doing other, important things.

Which ultimately leads to tardiness and its subsequently inefficient stressing out.

There.

I've come clean.

You can all choose to judge me as you will.

But.

I digress.

For I'd really like to discuss the new x-factor in my efficiency (or lack thereof) these days.

You see,

I think it would have been much more inspiring--or, at the very least, telling--if Cheaper By the Dozen highlighted the mother in the movie.

Specifically,

The mother feeding, bathing, dressing and changing her baby.

Or all twelve of them.

Because,

Friends,

Whatever smidgen of efficiency I once had,

Has been completely lambasted.

Thrashed, if you will.

By a wee little prince.

And I'm not just talking time, here.

I'm talking all resources that I have or ever hope to have.

(Which now includes diapers, wipes, onesies and an assortment of pastes, gels and powders.)

My life has evolved on the fast track to the management of fluids.

Of all types.

And, as any good mother will tell you,

Fluids are just that--

Fluid.

Not static.

Not predictable.

Often uncontainable.

Some of them come in the form of nutrients.

Some of them come in the form of tears.

Some of them come in other, less-than-pleasant forms.

But, management, it is,

And manage, we must!

But it's a curious form of management.

A deeply satisfying one.

(Albeit slightly overwhelming from time to time.)

And suddenly the efficiencies of self-interested superfluities

Give way to a superbly inefficient life.

Oh, I still think about button-down vests and stopwatches.

But somewhere, in the escaping of that two-tenths of a second,

I find that wee prince curled up against my shoulder,

Nestled just under my chin,

Deeply asleep,

Somehow smirking at the dreams in his head.

And somewhere I feel the Divine confidence

In the efficiency of inefficiency.