It’s 6pm, dinnertime is over and it’s raining outside. Naturally, I told my boys to go outside and get clean. They looked at me like I was crazy. I laughed like I was kidding, but I actually thought it was a pretty good idea. Why does the nighttime routine suck the life out of me? My husband says, “Do you want me to bathe or clean the kitchen?” (Bless him. He’s either about to head to work or he’s just gotten home and he jumps right in to help.) I always clean the kitchen. If I choose bathe I most certainly have to go to the kitchen when I am done and finish the job. I don’t mean that in a mean way. I mean it in an “I’m a control freak and everything must be put in the proper place or I can’t function,” way. Yeah, I need to let go.
They get tucked in, and all of the sudden I have a burst of energy. Five seconds before I thought I wouldn’t make it all the way to my bed. I start cleaning some more. I watch a pointless show and then I realize those “look so sweet when they are sleeping kids” are going to wake up soon and I don’t have enough Kcups to handle that. Seriously, close the computer and go to sleep. Stop calculating how many hours you will get if you watch just one more show. (I’m talking to myself.) You need to get up before them and have some quiet time. Maybe if I start eating the pages in my Bible I will have more patience. Why did I start a new series on Netflix at 10pm? Now, I can’t stop. Seriously, close the computer. You’re now at 5 hours. You will never make it through the day.
At least tonight I’m not watching a pointless series or being over controlling by scrubbing counters. I’m writing a blog. I’m being semi productive. I’ve only got 6 hours left. Pray for me, that when I close this word document, I won’t open up Netflix.