Every night, there are things we should do to make our lives easier.
We should do the dishes, sweep the kitchen floor, wipe the counters and stove, fill the water dispenser, take out the recycling if it's Wednesday, rinse out the day's poopy diapers so we will be ready to wash them on Sundays and Wednesdays, scoop the cat boxes, and, of course, feed the cats.
(Yes, items like "feed the cats" need to be on the list.)
Almost every night, I hit the 17th mile, where I think "No more. I can't do any more." I sigh, my shoulders slump, and I have a quick, internal conversation with myself. "You can do it. Just rinse out the washcloth and wipe the table and counters. Then you can stop."
Tonight, we didn't scoop the cat boxes or fill the water dispenser, and now, at 10:16 p.m., we are sitting in the livingroom, on our individual MacBook Pros, watching a documentary on Monty Python. The diapers are on their second wash; the recycling is on the porch. babywhumpus is asleep for the moment, and there's an annoying fly buzzing around my Guinness. daddywhumpus is working on the CD cover for the new Hounds of Finn CD; I am doing this. I figured out that I can vote for my boy in our little vanity contest 7 times a day, because it's browser-based, not ISP-based, and that is the sort of small accomplishment in which I must revel these days.
The fly is creeping across the face of a young Peter Cook; I notice that, once again, Finn did not finish his cookie; I really should be in bed.