Laundry’s never been my thing, even though I’ve had more than my fair share of experience with the spin cycle. Lord knows I’ve tried, but despite a decades-long love affair with bleach, my kids were always the ones with the grayish, never-quite-perfectly-white socks. I finally figured out the black athletic socks don’t show dirt like the white ones do, so now I try to buy those.
Oh, the dreaded Monday: We all experience and endure it; although depending on your specific schedule, your Monday might fall on a Thursday. Still, we understand the concept of Monday melancholy (or Thursday melancholy, as the case may be). I’ve never been one to shy away from Mondays. It’s as good a time as any to get things done and put things off. But I have to confess — lately, they’ve been getting to me. I find myself feeling listless and unmotivated on the first day of the standard workweek.
My husband and I have always tried to make our family a priority. It is the one aspect of parenting we can agree on.
I wish I had all the answers. I know some people who do. I’m pretty sure you do, too — know someone who is smarter than the rest of us. Maybe you are even lucky enough to be one of them.
Life can be exciting, and stressful. And sometimes, exciting things — even though they are good things — create stress. Even though you promise yourself you won’t let them this time.
Everyone looks forward to vacation. For me, the days — weeks, months even — leading up to a seven-day hiatus are filled with ever-increasing amounts of packing-related frenzy, many of which are unneeded and even a little bit whacko. But I do them anyway. The process starts with organization — not of the suitcase, but of every closet, drawer, nook and cranny in the house, vehicle and perhaps even the garage.
The young woman was our server at a restaurant one evening. Even though she was a stranger, I’d never met or seen before, I had an eerie feeling as though I had. There was a familiarity about her I found hard to ignore — so much so that I said something about it when she came to take my order. "You look so familiar."
It can seem overwhelming sometimes — this thing called life. You awaken at 4 a.m. because it is a "migraine day," and roll over while trying not to move your head, just hoping to get back to sleep for another hour or two.
It was a normal, unassuming, typical Tuesday, the day the peanut butter went missing. I couldn’t believe it myself. Although looking back, it shouldn’t have been too big a surprise. But I’m jumping ahead of the story. I enjoy a piece of peanut butter toast on occasion. That Tuesday was going to be one of those occasions. I took out the bread and the toaster and opened the cupboard to fetch the peanut butter. It was gone.
Spring forward; fall back. Twice each year we reset the clocks. In the fall, I relish the extra hour of sleep I think I get because 6 a.m. is really 7 a.m. — or it feels that way for a couple days at least. But you know what they say. There’s no such thing as a free lunch or free extra hour of sleep. Come spring, it’s time to pay the piper and relinquish an hour. Suddenly 7 a.m. feels like 6 a.m. — for at least a couple days.