I tell myself, as I put a new load of dirty clothes into the washer, that I will fold all the clothes tonight. Much like, when eight o'clock came too early this morning, I told myself that I would go to bed at nine tonight.
These goals I seem to be setting a lot of lately. Goals that, at the time they are set, seem very feasible and realistic, but are, in fact, not so. Not because they can't be done. I don't run out of time with the cookie baking and toilet scrubbing and ten bedtime stories reading I'm squeezing in at night. No, my "after kids are in bed time" is not filled with anything but an enormous need to kick up my legs, turn off my mind, and stare blankly at the television screen.
And lately, I'm okay with that, which is why our shirts are wrinkly and our dust bunnies are mating. I don't always like it, that I can be okay in a house with a layer of dust on every surface and a Kilimanjaro mountain of laundry. But the alternative, being stressed out and crabby and obsessed with keeping a clean and organized house, I like even less.
As it is already we are in a constant push and pull between the ever-growing To Do list and the most-importants of Life.
So, even though I tell myself that laundry will get folded tonight, I won't be surprised when it doesn't, and I end up going to bed after ten. But I won't hold it against myself either.