“I’m going to throw in a load of laundry real quick.”
“Can you check his diaper real quick?”
“Can you do me a really quick favor?”
“I just need to get ready real quick.”
It’s not proper English, but it’s become a staple in my vocabulary.
I don’t know if I said “real quick” (or similar variations) as frequently in my pre-triplets days, but I say it almost constantly now.
When asking for help, it’s become almost an apology or at least an assurance that the favor isn’t something terribly taxing.
“I don’t want to bother you,” in other words.
When I use it to define my own tasks, it’s almost always an apology for needing to do one thing while one/two/three other things wait. It’s also an assurance that I’ll be ready to move onto my next
chore great adventure lickity split.
I need to slow down. I know I do. I’ve needed to slow down since the day Toby, Eleanor and Callista came home from NICU, but I just can’t seem to do it. Well, either I can’t, or everything else won’t exactly let me.
On one hand, being constantly in motion isn’t such a bad thing. On the other, it’s exhausting. One finger of that other hand – the index finger that shows No. 1 – tells me that, more than being exhausting, it’s stretching. I am constantly working to avoid being stretched too thin, especially where my kids are concerned. I hope I have never said, “Let me read this book real quick,” or “I just need to give E/T/C a hug real quick.”
I’m quite guilty of untangling a clinger when I need to cook dinner to appease the hunger that’s causing said clinginess (x3 in most cases, though it’s sometimes clingy, fussy and OMG THE WORLD IS ENDING) , but I’ve had to learn to prioritize and accept that leaving them behind “real quick” is sometimes what they need more than a cuddle that would only staunch the wound. For the greater good, as Gindelwald said.
Or is it? Welcome to my brain battle.