You know how they say you should give the jobs to the people who are busy, because they’ll get it done? Like, how you always see the same women on every committee? So for years, I rolled my eyes, just like you.

Despite what my older sister predicted back in the days we shared a bedroom (short-lived; my parents decided they’d rather keep the house intact for another few years, thank you very much), I thrive on organization. (And routine. Tuesday nights are always milchig. Any ideas?)

I may not be so busy, but I always get it done. I consistently turn work projects in before deadline, starting on the least pleasant first, much the way you eat from grossest to favorite food on your plate. I keep a clean home, scrubbing out my oven on average of once a month, which is handy when Pesach rolls around, but not necessarily my impetus. (Once a week would be better, I agree, but I am not my sister; I am human.) I throw out mail as it comes, and plead the Fifth about parshah projects. Also, I’m considering using this paragraph as my cover letter the next time I look for a job.

Recently, though, I’ve been overloaded. Work projects have been coming in one after the next, each more boring than the previous, and my house suddenly seems overrun with things — mostly toys (mostly broken). More and more of my little people are showing up with increasingly difficult homework, and no one has yet mentioned that they wouldn’t mind eating tuna sandwiches for supper for the next few years. Or that they want to train for a future as a cleaning lady. I’ve been learning to let go (of folded laundry, mainly), and I’ve learned the secret of those busy women.

It’s procrastination. Yup, the “intentional putting off of something that must get done.” Work is boring? Cleaning schnitzel somehow seems less daunting. Too tired to tackle the fridge? The toy closet is suddenly calling my name. And when my pile of broken toys and ripped books becomes a mountain, I run for the computer, back to work. The most tedious of tasks feels exhilarating, like a break from real life. Until the excitement wears off and I head back to the laundry room.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 600)