The Mondays


Getting out of bed is my least favorite thing to do.

(Excluding invoicing.)

I'm not a morning person. Mornings are rude, they interrupt time I'd rather spend not participating in reality. Tiny feet sound like drumbeats as they run across the hardwood floor towards the edge of my bed.

"It's good morning tiiiiime" whispers a little voice. Most of the house likes the morning whereas mornings are my first struggle of the day.

Breakfast. Homework. Email. Writing. Forgot to put a towel underneath the easel as they paint. Regret. Lessons. Lunch. Writing. Prep. More email. Hugs from little arms. Alive. Homework. Failed "sea monster" experiment. None of them hatched. Try again. Prep. Dinner. Kisses. Show. Stomp the snow off my boots. Check on sleeping boys. Collapse in chair. Watch "Fringe" with Chris. Email. Writing. Scrub my Invisalign trays. Bed.

And then some days, lately: breakfast. Rush to airport. Shuttle. Sky Mall! Hotel. Exhale, good wifi. Speak. Socialize. Writing. Interviews. Lights and microphone in my face. Alive. Shuttle. Security. Flying over a patchwork quilt of places I haven't been and people I haven't met. Home. Boys. Alive.

I have photos from Nashville that I need to post but have been so slow because of travel, work, and a big project underway and big news that I can share on the 22nd. I leave to speak at CPAC in D.C. later this week (sad to miss Houston and the lovely ladies there).

Glad the snow has barricaded us all together inside.

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Dana asks: "Thanksgiving Traditions: Yours or Your Mother's?"