Every mom knows that relaxing is a luxury for those who either have nannies, self-occupying children (what even is that? Who has those kids? Do they exist in nature?!), or people who simply do not have little tyrants in their living space. I personally daydream about nannies. Not like... in an inappropreate way, but you know. A way in which only a tired mother would think about nannies. As if they are magical creatures capable of mystical relaxation giving powers. And they kind of are. I'm guessing.
Sometimes my husband will see how exhausted I am and offer in some additional assistance with things. This is great, if only there weren't a million and a half other things left on my to-do list. After a while of running off such high-octane get-things-done fuel, relaxation can become a bit foreign. Shit like folding stuff can become relaxing.
FOLDING. What the hell happened to me??
