I continue to be awed at how much I can get done on so little sleep. Not that I’m pleasant to be around or efficient with my time or anything, but I still get things done. Laundry may sit in a large pile on the couch before someone gets around to folding it. Then it might patiently wait, folded in the basket for another day or two until it finally makes it into drawers. By then there is a giant load of dirty stuff ready to fill the basket with, and it will sit there until it is overflowing again and someone brings it to the basement and starts the whole process over again.
For you readers who also have young children at home, you know that this is not just a way of life, but a metaphor for life: as soon as one menial task is completed and checked off the list, it’s just time to do it all over again. Not that I’m complaining. Too loudly anyway. I suppose everyone’s lives are filled with mundane tasks. Why exactly does it feel extra mundane once kid stuff gets involved? We had laundry to do before. Maybe not as much laundry? Is it more tiring to fold smaller shirts and pants? I have no idea.