Last night I slept the sleep of the just. Or at least, the sleep of the justifiably exhausted. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks here, and yesterday signaled the end of our exertions.  Spring is insanely busy for us; lots of family birthdays proper, and weekend birthday sleep-overs and end of school events. Work has been busy as well, which is great, but always a little stressful when your entire workforce consists of, well, the two business owners. I try mightily to put myself in a positive mindset, to enjoy all the bits of life, even the messy, busy, labor-intensive ones, but more often than not, find myself wishing the whole, darn, so-called happy event was over and done.


It’s a hard mentality to change, especially when the aftermath is so lovely. Last night I slept for nine hours, which my sister and I agree is the requisite amount of nightly slumber. (Don’t judge. We’re delicate.) When I awoke there was birdsong and sunshine and a whole stack of those crappy magazines from the supermarket checkout line donated to yours truly by my mom and grandma. There are very few joys in life as satisfying as laying in bed, drinking coffee and reading back to back articles dedicated to miracle diets and triple layer cake recipes. I’m sorry, but that is just the sort of sloth that is always going to seem more attractive to me than the rush, rush, rush of the past few weeks.

Magazines!  I need more Magazines!



Hubby, of course, nearly RUINED it. His idea of a perfect day is to wake up before the sun, practically, throw on his overalls (seriously?) and DO stuff. Hard stuff. Dirty, digging in the garden, “Where’s my wheelbarrow and crowbar?” stuff.


Dude. You’re harshing my buzz.


I suspect we will be forever mismatched on this point. Too much inactivity and he gets twitchy.  Too much on my plate and I get, well, crazy. It is a cruel twist of fate that I am the mother in this reality, responsible for the comings and goings of all these little people…and the dentist appointments and the haircuts and the procurement of underwear, shoes and sleeping bags, baker of birthday cakes, preparer of holiday meals. If the Universe was truly just, and placed us in our roles according to our strengths, I would be reclining on cushions, floating down the Nile on a barge, fanned by the same rugrats I now serve.


Sigh. My true talents have always been under-appreciated.


Oh, well, at least today there is rest. Rest and coffee and trashy magazines. It’s not the Nile, but for a dollar I bet I can get one of the kiddlets to fan me, which would be pretty much perfect. As long as we can avoid that crazy guy with the overalls, that is.

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The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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