Stage one: coffee only works for about an hour Stage two: your son wanders into your room in the middle of the night and you have no trouble falling back asleep Stage three: you forget the name of the woman who lives across the street Stage four: you haven’t eaten a green vegetable in two days and you don’t care Stage five: your husband is no longer funny Stage six: it's December 21 and you still haven't put any holiday lights up outside and, now that you really think about it, it's just not going to happen, for the first...
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...no matter when we get up. First of all, thanks to all of you who responded to my very unscientific poll. Second, I’m amazed at the level of extreme organization some of you exhibit. I for one rarely do all of the night-before things (pack backpacks, put coats and shoes by the door, make snacks, make sure homework is in appropriate binders) that I know I’m supposed to do. Third, here is the chaotic reality that led to my question in the first place: In my house, Eldest has to leave home at 7:10 to get to middle school on...
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Question: If your child had to leave home at 8:10 to get to school on time, what time would you make him get out of bed?
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OK, I usually delete group emails like this that stereotype men and women (or cats and dogs, little boys and little girls, bosses and employees — you know the kind), but this one came from my mother yesterday and I have to say I think it’s pretty funny. (Clearly I am stereotypical.) 9 Words Women Use 1.) Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up. 2.) Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means half an hour. "Five minutes" is only five minutes if you have...
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This is a photograph of the thing that has taken over my house. For those of you who are not afflicted by this particular scourge, let me explain by saying it is a sock. Not just any old sock, but: A) the only kind of sock my kids will wear, no matter what the season or the accompanying footwear B) a sock that isn't really a sock because it's made of only about 3 inches of fabric C) a sock that I used to know as a *ped* when it was worn to play tennis, which was the only time...
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This morning I had a lightbulb moment: There appears to be a direct relationship — in fact, a symbiotic, loving marriage — between the messiness of my house and how tired I am. To wit: this weekend was a minimal sleep affair. Saturday night we went to a party and I had three glasses of champagne and no dinner (unless hors d'ouevres at the party and a bowl of vanilla ice cream eaten standing up when I got home count), so needless to say my sleep was restless at best. Then on Sunday we went with my sister and her...
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Try to fall back asleep when you wake up an hour before the alarm is set to go off, or just get up? Sleep longer or go to the gym? Make breakfast for eldest child or have him do it himself? Walk or drive middle child to school? Make coffee at home or buy Starbucks on the way to work? Have back-to-back meetings or retain your sanity? Take a walk around the block or just have another cup of coffee? Interrupt a meeting to watch the wedding couple dancing on YouTube or act more like a professional? Stay longer at...
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Two weekends ago my parents were visiting to take a bunch of us to Cirque du Soleil, watch their grandsons play sports and, as it turns out, help me and my family move back into our kitchen. After a particularly hectic Sunday that involved two soccer games, a tennis match, and unpacking lots of dusty boxes filled with kitchen stuff that we have actually survived very well without for the last four months, my father said to me, “Do you know that every light in your house is on?” My father is obsessed with a number of things (duct tape...
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So I’ve been writing this blog for a few weeks and there are many benefits, I’ve found. First of all, I can complain and get paid for it. Second, I can complain and people actually seem to listen, unlike when I complain at home and everyone in my family goes on screen saver. Third, there is a shared misery thing that happens when I complain about something and five people immediately chime in and either say they feel my pain or tell me a story about themselves that is even worse. And finally, I get to “meet” visitors to my...
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