See the dishes? Contrary to what some Normal People would assume, that’s just one day’s worth of dishes.
Rhythms are difficult to maintain on weekends. Weekends when your 9yo does a kids’ triathlon are even more difficult.
(See how I casually worked bragging on my kid into this post?)
Last Friday night, I was already tired when I started the hour drive to stay with my parents so we’d be closer to the race location on Saturday morning. I was even more tired when we arrived after an hour of stressful in-the-rain-but-just-enough-rain-to-make-crazy-prisms-appear-all-over-my-windshield driving.
Then I didn’t sleep well. Like, the wake-up-at-3:30-a.m.-and-not-be-able-to-go-back-to-sleep kind of not sleeping well.
Then I got the kids up at 5:15 so we could get on the road by 5:45.
Then we cheered on our triathlete while standing in constant drizzle and sometimes rain.
Then . . . the boy who had earned the right to choose where he wanted to eat breakfast chose . . . fast food.
When Grandpa was paying.
Which irritated this mama who just loves to be waited on.
Then we stopped to see a loved one in the hospital where I yawned and yawned because I was already/still ever-so-tired. Then we got on the road for the hour drive back home . . . in the rain.
So . . . Saturday night when it was time to settle down for the evening, I did NOT feel like doing the dishes.
Because I was just so tired.
For real tired. Like, totally.
But (probably because I’d already committed to writing about my lame excuses for the next 31 days), I realized that my tiredness was an excuse.
A real thing, but an excuse. Because I know I have to do the dishes.
Like it or not.
Liking actually has nothing to do with whether or not I have to do them.
So I did them. Which meant emptying the still-full-from-Friday-morning dishwasher and re-filling it.
Which took all of about fifteen minutes.
And made me feel eight-and-a-half-times more energized after it was done.