Bare with me. It’s about midnight, and despite going to bed at 9:45, a husband who turns on the light assuming I’m still awake when he comes to bed, and a toddler working on molars have reduced my sleep to virtually nothing.
It’s all because I uttered one little sentence without thinking this morning when complaining to a coworker how tired I’ve been lately: “but it doesn’t make sense! I’ve been sleeping 8 1/2 hours a night!” So it’s with trepidation that I type this next sentence.
We’re doing a much better job of keeping on top of life.
There have been some rough spots. We didn’t have lunches made before we went to bed tonight. But we had clean pots and pans to quickly make something up before work. We forgot to pick up oranges and apples, but we have milk, pears and bananas and were still well under our grocery budget. C’s clothing is still all over the spare bedroom after some repair work in the hallway involved cutting a hole in her closet that has now been patched, but that has more to do with the fact that our nightly “clean up time” is after her bedtime.
Life doesn’t FEEL that much more in control, but it’s the weirdest times that I notice it. When we left for the weekend Saturday morning, our house was a disaster, and C was in a “pull everything out of the cupboards” mood. We didn’t have a chance to put it back before we left, and even when we got home the next day, we were home just long enough for C to track all of the mess into different rooms. Sunday evening, once we finally had a chance to be home for more than 30 minutes, we rushed around and cleaned up. We were exhausted before we started, but our house was clean. Not spotless, but clean.
In a way it was reminiscent of the days when we would get a phone call from Scott’s parents that they were halfway through the inter-provincial journey to our apartment, and we would rush around and clean our disaster of our apartment. In a way, it was a good way to see how far we’d come. It would take us until the minute they showed up (roughly 2 hours), and much of the “stuff” would have just been thrown into closets and under beds. This time, it took us less than 1 hour, and we had much more space and a tasmanian toddler to contend with. Progress couldn’t be denied.
But the best feeling? Lying on the couch when it was all said and done, knowing we still had an hour until bed, and knowing that every detail of the week would go that much smoother so long as we just picked up after ourselves every night.
And so far, we have 🙂