I’m feeling quite productive this morning. On a normal weekday morning I wake up, make the bed, make breakfast for Caroline and me and then go to the gym. By the time I’ve worked out, showered and come home, it’s already lunch time. Half the day gone, with not much accomplished on the home front. And then by the time lunch has been eaten, I’m hardly in the mood to do my housewifery upkeep. Instead, the computer calls my name, or the demands of a kid wanting to go to the pool derail my good intentions.

This morning I woke up early, put the hunk of pork for tonight’s pot luck in the crock pot, ran 4+ miles, pulled weeds, cleaned the garden dirt from beneath my nails, ate breakfast, showered, vacuumed my car and most of the house, cut up the baked goods I made yesterday and did laundry. I have a full day of cooking, and the accompanying dishes, ahead of me, so it’s nice to have so many things already crossed off my imaginary to-do list.

Days like this, where I’m pleased with my productivity and recharged by the satisfaction of not being a schlub, I start to feel bad for spending so much time at the gym. But, then again, I really crave that time. I need to get out of the house. I want to chat with people who are over the age of 10. Otherwise, there would be an even greater chance of me actually losing my marbles.

I don’t want to lose my marbles. I don’t want marbles (literal or figurative) all over my floor. Because even though I will have lost said marbles, I’ll still have to clean them up. Marbles are kind of sneaky and one may roll away, leaving the possibility that I might step on one in the middle of the night. Have you ever stepped on a marble? Or a Lego? I have a tendency to allow obscene words to escape from my lips when I’ve stepped on one. Hey, wasn’t there a study recently that said if you curse when you’re hurt, the pain will subside more quickly? I’ll have to keep that in mind. So long as there aren’t any children present. That’s one thing you never want to explain to another kid’s parent.

It’s quite clear that this productive morning has done nothing to squash my ability to babble about ridiculous things no one cares about..

2 responses

  1. Your mommy cares…and so does Bearcat, in a terrified, worried, "Is she OK?" asking sort of way. Dad was so glad to see you to realize that you really ARE normal, or at least not certifiably insane. Yet.27 more days. 27 more days…Then you can jump on the kid's bed and eat ice cream for breakfast, and in a few years you can add trying on her clothes.Mom-revenge is sweet.


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