For years, I've even embraced it. With the randomly destructive pattern of one Tasmanian devil (yes, the cartoon one), I can swing into a whirlwind of organization: the holidays, former occupational duties, visitors. .
. but if I'm honest, and that's what a blog is all about, I am Type B. Down to the tips of my toes, which haven't been polished in three months. Because it's winter. And no one sees them.
Enter Tasmanian devil jr., my accomplice in non-accomplishment, also known as my nearly 17 month old daughter.
I used to sit, doodling in work meetings and conference calls, feeling the kicks of little busy feet in my tummy, and I daydreamed about the days ahead. Visions of parks, playdates, dresses, shopping, cleaning, organizing, cooking and all around mom greatness circa 1950s danced in my head.
Fast-forward 17 months through a, well, challenging infancy (Harper's literal and my figurative one as a mom) and here I am: still in my pajamas at 1:00 pm after dragging a Christmas tree from the attic in three spiky, unimaginably awkward pieces and assembling said green porcupine as uneventfully as possible, as to not attract an exorbitant amount of attention from Tasmanian devil jr.
This is how I work.
It's not pretty, but Harper doesn't notice that I'm still in my PJs. She knows that we've played with Christmas ornaments all morning (my crack at desensitizing to the real thing), colored with crayons and taken turns playing chase all over the house.
In between, I've managed the aforementioned tree battle, washed our sheets and vacuumed the den and couch - if you have a child who loves graham crackers as deeply as does Harper, you know why I vacuum the couch.
It sounds like a crazy day and it's typical. The only difference is that I've put up the tree more than a month earlier than I usually do, and thus begins my journey to improve my untimely ways!
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