I Cut the Watermelon
by Kate Wicker in Marriage on Monday, October 05, 2009 6:00 AM
Recently, my husband volunteered to cut a watermelon, a chore I detest not only because of the mess it makes, but also because I’ve had several close calls with the knife snipping off a wayward fingertip or two.
As I watched him push the sharp blade through the juicy, pink flesh, I wondered what was on his mind. His eyes were focused, contemplative, his jaw slightly clenched. Surely he was thinking about something important.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“But you look like you’re deep in thought. You had to be thinking about something.”
“I was thinking about cutting the watermelon.”
Huh?
My husband’s not-so-deep thoughts prompted me to consider the many times I’ve hovered over that same cutting board, wielding a knife. Oh sure, I’ve butchered a watermelon and cooed to a baby in a sling. (Is it any wonder I’ve almost lost a fingertip in the process?) I’ve sliced and diced grapes into miniscule, choke-proof pieces for my toddler while chatting on the phone. I’ve chopped onions while whispering a quick prayer. I’ve sliced tomatoes while giving my oldest the “don’t even think about it” glare as she wound up to pitch a Lincoln Log at her sister.
But I’m 99 percent sure I’ve never done anything as simple as just cutting the stinkin’ watermelon. My hands may be working the knife, but the rest of me is far removed from the task.
One Thing at a Time
My husband is as easy going as they come. He’s rarely flustered. He can tune out anything. Sometimes it drives me crazy. He’ll come home from work, plant kisses on all of his girls’ cheeks, and then shift his attention to his pile of mail. Even as the natives get more than restless (they’re practically on the verge of a full-blown revolt), he’s able to calmly sift through the stack of letters. I’ll look over at him meticulously opening the envelopes, and I’m thinking, “Hellooooo? Can the mail wait? Or can you please look through it and work on helping me restore peace in this war zone?”
All the while, I’m giving myself an internal pat on the back because I know I have the power to thumb through mail and entertain the kids, no problem. Because, like a lot of moms, I’m a multitasking maven.
Part of moms’ ability to juggle several balls at once is a matter of survival. If we don’t want our families to starve, there are times when we’re forced to whip together dinner while simultaneously holding a baby or chatting with a teen about his day. In the carpool line, we learn to schedule a well-child visit with the pediatrician on our cell and file our nails. We streamline bedtime routines by brushing the teeth of a child while wiping down the bathroom counter. We’re adept at squeezing in prayers as we fold laundry or nurse a child.
Comes at a Cost
But sometimes I wonder if our perpetual multitasking causes us to miss out on the peace that can be found in being physically and mentally present on a single task. Personally, I often feel like I’m living in a scattered state, hacking competing tasks into pieces and taking nothing as a whole, which can lead to burnout. Perhaps my husband’s calm disposition has less to do with some superhuman immunity to stress and more to do with how he’s able to let a minute or a task absorb him instead of being distracted by the fifty other things he should be doing or needs to do next or must do at the same time if he’s to accomplish anything at all.
I am productive, but there are days when I may tackle my to-do list with evangelical fervor without really being fully present to anything or anyone – including God. Yet, does God really want me to be constantly racing at a frantic clip? Sometimes he calls me to pause long enough to surrender my heart, mind, and body (put that laundry down; you can fold it later!) completely to him.
So I’ve decided to make a little pact with manic multitasking self and try to be more like my minimalist husband.
How? By pausing for mini retreats throughout my day to just bask in God’s presence. By not always playing with my kids by the clock. By watching my baby’s round, moving cheeks as she nurses. By occasionally folding laundry slow enough to notice its fresh scent. By focusing on the preparation of a meal and when it’s time to eat, allowing the flavors to mingle in my mouth. By working to define my hours more by what I left undone in order to be fully present and less by the number of items I successfully checked off my to-do list.
By sometimes doing nothing more and nothing less than cutting a watermelon.
—Kate Wicker confesses that she wrote this feature while drinking a cup of coffee and listening to music. She blogs at KateWicker.com.
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