Yesterday I cleaned my house (the front rooms, anyway) until it was sparkly. Then I hosted the homeowner’s association, of which I am the secretary and thus took all the notes.
I also made cookies and brownies.
I kept the children from bothering my husband, who was working at home all day in the study (writing.)
I paid a bunch of bills.
I spent a lot of time with the little ones, supervising their play outside, reading books, playing legos.
I fulfilled my duties at an online forum for which I am a moderator.
I walked and fed the dog, helped my husband edit his writing, made sure my daughter made it to the school dance, fixed a lovely lunch, and planted the fig tree my husband bought from the nursery.
Yesterday evening, my husband, who never makes a peep when the house is a complete wreck, which is most of the time, thoughtfully said, “The house looks amazing. It feels really comfortable.”
To which I responded, “Today was the first day all year that I didn’t write a blog post. When the house is clean, I’m not writing.”
And here I am today, before anyone wakes up, hoping I can get this last sentence in before the insanity starts.