Our Hour

Isn't this weekend just a race to accomplish as much as is usually possible with one fewer hour to work with? It makes total sense in theory, but I wilted in the face of competition this time around. I put my toes on the starting line, but by the time I broke into a sprint, I made a split second decision to hang out on the couch instead. And here it is nearly 11, which is actually 12, and I only have one and a half loads of laundry done, the bags I set out for Goodwill are not full yet, and I almost forgot to slice before midnight. To that, I say whatever. Because the rest of the family joined me in my lounging, all five and the pup, leaning back with our feet up. There've been times I've said, "I want that hour back." This was not one of those times.