Time Budgets, Or, In Defense of Hobbies Even When You’re Way Too Busy

If time is money, shouldn’t we budget for it too?

Here is the schedule of a typical evening at my house.

7:30 PM: Toddler bedtime. We observe it by sitting at the table, trying to cajole our 3.5 year old into eating the most unobjectionable food you can imagine short of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

8:00 PM: Baby passes out in the bouncy chair on the floor nearby, possibly from boredom.

8:30 PM: Having brushed her teeth, read some books, gotten into PJs, dashed back to the table to grab some more food and spill some on the floor, drunk more water, gone to the bathroom at least once, gotten two hugs and several songs including the ABCs sung forwards and back, toddler is finally in bed — for now.

8:45 PM: “I need to use the potty.”

8:52 PM: “I’m not wearing socks.”

9:00 PM: “Potty.” / “I want my striped blanket.” / “My feet are too warm.” / “It’s dark.” / “Is this a long nap or a short nap?”

9:05 PM: Baby wakes up, hungry and fractious, demanding to know how we can make America great again.

9:30 PM: Baby is asleep. Toddler is asleep too, or at least lying in bed singing quietly to herself. Ben is at his laptop. I start to pass out.

9:45 PM: Usually I make it to bed before I collapse.

Our evenings used to be far simpler and more productive. The toddler was in bed by 8:00, and Ben and I worked separately until about 10:00, at which point we segued into cleaning, quiet conversation, or other adult activities. Certain nights I got two extra hours of work done which, depending on the project, could net me $150. Other nights I got just enough done to make my mornings easier. But I could almost always accomplish something.

Now that someone has thrown an infant into the mix — and if you find that person, let me know, because I’d like to have a word with her — I get nothing done. I’m lucky if I manage to wash the dishes, the same way I’m lucky if I remember to take off my glasses before getting in the shower. Sleep-deprivation: it’s real and it’s fabulous.

Why Six Hours Of Sleep Is As Bad As None At All

Because he’s not on the hook for breastfeeding through the night, Ben has a little more flexibility and a few more brain cells that he can devote to other things. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve found myself looking jealously at him at his computer. What is he doing over there? Something fun? Shouldn’t he be putting laundry away, or starting more laundry, or trying to figure out which piles of laundry in the bedroom need to be put away vs. which ones need to be washed? Alternatively, shouldn’t he be figuring out how we could make more money so that we could hire someone to watch the kids while we do all that laundry?

It doesn’t matter that, when I’m done with my immediate responsibilities, I fall facedown on the bed like an oak that’s been chainsawed. It doesn’t matter that Ben, unlike so many spouses, actually is an equal and conscientious contributor to the home. For some reason, when I look over and see my partner at his computer, I get resentful. Because I know this resentment is illogical, though, I don’t express it; I repress it — which, funny enough, does not make it go away.

So, instead, Ben and I have begun a conversation about Time Budgeting. It involves making explicit certain things that we could once take for granted, like that of course we can each carve out time during the week for activities that don’t make us money and yet help define our identities. AKA hobbies. Hobbies are crucial! They keep us sane! They remind us, victims of late-stage capitalism, of who we are aside from Wage Earners and Parents! When both partners feel this weary and worn-out, arguably, we need our hobbies more than ever; and yet hobbies can become hard to justify.

Unless … unless they’re in the budget. If I know that Ben has allocated a couple hours during the week and another hour or two each weekend to his hobbies, then I’m comforted for two reasons.

1. Because I understand that there are limits.
2. Because I understand what those limits are.

And then I can think more holistically about how our hobbies are vital. How his broaden his horizons and help him continue to be the enthusiastic, intellectually curious person I was attracted to in the first place.

My resentment … well, maybe it doesn’t evaporate. I’m human, stretched thin, grouchy. Small children can be infuriating and since you can’t scream at a three-year-old, much less a 10-week-old, the anger pools and collects. My goal is to be able to channel it off safely to a waste disposal site rather than have it spray out, firehose-style, at the person I love best in the world. Will a Time Budget work? Will anything? Tune in next time!

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