Today it's been four weeks since my fortieth birthday and I have slumped. Slumpity slumpity slump, like a lazy walrus soaking up the August sun. In the cornfields. A Midwestern kind of walrus.
My list of stuff to get done by July 19 was a little too ambitious, and I was glad not to have it hanging over my head for the past four weeks. HOWEVER. Things fall apart rapidly when I impersonate a Midwestern walrus, not least because my children complain that those whiskers tickle and my husband dislikes the way that the tusks get in his way when he is kissing me. There's the PAPER. The LAUNDRY. The GENERALLY UNRELENTING nature of managing a home occupied by five children.
One of the big successes of the spring for me was getting consistent about doing the morning tasks promptly every morning. I also have other task lists for myself (Flylady would call them routines but I'm riding a wave of anti-Flylady sentiment at the moment) and I am going to work on getting those done more consistently. If I fold a basket of laundry every day, it doesn't pile up. If I deal with a little bit of paper every day, the sight of my desk doesn't make me curl into a heap of blubbering blubber. (Sing it to the tune of Beautiful Dreamer, all you Judy Blume fans.) It's a cinch by the inch but hard by the yard, as somebody's grandpa once intoned.
The hardest part for me is the evenings. I am tired by the time dinner is on the table, and I cannot always muster the discipline to get those evening tasks done swiftly. But hey-- if I can get into the groove of getting the bathrooms wiped down six mornings a week, surely I can get into the groove of working with the boys to get the kitchen cleaned promptly after dinner. Right?
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