I walk into the mud room and witness my daughter holding a bag of Runts in the air, pouring as much into her mouth as possible. It's 7:45 in the morning. "What are you doing?" I ask. She knows I do not allow candy before noon. This is just one of the arbitrary rules to establish some small shred of order.
Why are there so many socks without matches? Maybe they've thrown them off the trampoline into the neighbor's bush or they're hiding them under their beds with absolutely everything else or they're trading them with friends in an evil game of torture ... I'm just over socks. Next season please.
I'm sitting in the stairwell to the upstairs talking to my sister on the phone. She's talking about her current struggle with men and I'm looking at the wall wondering how long it's been this disgusting. I grab a dry erase pad and while we discuss life and the merits of having low expectations, I wipe away a year's worth of grubby finger marks.
Every year, each child is supposed to make a Valentine's Day box for their classroom's party. I just had a brilliant idea: What if I send the box to school and they do it there as an art project? Look, I know some of you out there love this box making, but I'm not Martha Stewart.