The Tyranny of 6pm

I am starting to feel a little chafed again by the early morning and evening bookends to my tightly scheduled days. This is in particularly sharp relief right now, since I'm solo-parenting again this week while Josh is in Ottawa (and still sick, just to add icing to the cupcake), but I've been feeling it for awhile now. I've certainly mused on this topic before, and I'm not saying that schedules or having a routine are bad--I'm certainly not an advocate of anarchy and "seat of the pants" living---it's just that after awhile of being so disciplined all the time, so constantly on the clock (and so constantly stuggling against it, always those critical 5 or 10 minutes late), I start having these fantasies of--are you ready?--leaving work whenever I feel finished! Or swinging by the car wash/mall/movie theater on the way home! (Crazy, I know.) But instead I have the 6 o'clock hour hanging over my head like a great pointy Big Ben. Because 6pm is the beginning of the nightly routine: empty lunchboxes. Scan mail and phone messages. Entertain/feed kids while Josh cooks dinner (or this week, it's me who's got both duties). Bathtime. Isaac bedtime. Eli bedtime. It's a lot to pack in to 2ish hours, especially after a long day. (Mornings are no better; if anything, they're equally squeezed and stressful.) And even then, it would probably be better for Eli to go to bed earlier, since he has such a hard time waking up in the mornings, but it's easier to stagger the bedtimes. I can't even imagine how we're going to fit homework into this (let alone how we're going to get us all up and out almost an hour earlier than we currently do), once Eli starts Kindergarten in a couple of weeks. Waugh. Can't think of that now. Must. Repress. Anxiety.

On the other hand (because in my octopi family there are always several more hands to consider), I'm not sure what I'd do if I didn't have the tyranny of routine to keep me going. After the initial enjoyment of not having to adhere to the strict schedule wore off (assuming it ever would), would I feel lost, unanchored, without purpose? (I do feel that way sometimes, on those rare occasions where the tyrant is absent for whatever reason.) Or have I just learned to love my jailer? Check back with me in 15 or 20 years, we'll see what happens.