I’ll Finish the Dishes When I’m Dead
The way you live your days is the way you live your life.
One evening when my kids were young, I was outside weeding my infernal gravel yard that, if left untended, begins to look like a furry Chia Pet. They were bouncing with sheer delight on the trampoline.
“Mommy, come jump with us!” they cried. “In a minute,” I kept saying. “Just let me finish weeding.” It was a time in my life when I used to routinely ask myself, “What do I need to do before I can feel okay?” And then I’d run through a never-ending mental list. That evening, with a familiar sense of vague panic rising, I felt compelled to finish at least one thing, the weeding, on that long, long list.
Lost in my churning thoughts, I didn’t notice the sun go down. Or hear my kids go inside. When I looked…
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