Another work week has ended, another supposed-to-be-productive weekend is about to begin, and my family members are in these various positions right now:

Me, obviously at the computer. Surprise, surprise.

Vic, under the coffee table, in a make-believe fort/hideout.

Aaron, under a blanket in The Big Chair, watching some sci-fi flick on TV.

Dom, prone on the sofa, his back to the TV. I think I saw him breathe. But no snores…yet.

Mason, looking cute, laying in front of the TV, a chew toy inches from his nose.

Mabel, M.I.A. This can’t be good.

My goal this evening was to accomplish all the things I needed to do earlier this week, but was just too dang tired to do. If I sit still, I fall asleep. That must mean something. While I’m still awake, I plan to rearrange the office. If I could just get my butt out of this chair.

Earlier today, I was whining about my overwrought ToDo list when Dom said, “You have some clothes in the washing machine.” (He was trying to “help” by gently reminding me of yet another chore I was in the middle of. Surprisingly, I didn’t bite his head off.)

“Yeah, I know…I just put them in there to get them off the floor but they’re not washed yet. I didn’t start the machine up.”

Oh, but I did.

Three days ago.


Now, with a track record like that, how in the hell can I honestly complain about forgotten homework, lost library books, dishes in the sink and junk mail left on the kitchen counter?

I think I’ll go move a bookcase.