If you opened my refrigerator on a Tuesday afternoon, there’s a good chance you’d find my green Dansk pot sitting on the bottom shelf filled with dinner. I try to limit any scheduled work events that day because the way after-school activities have shaken down for the past year, is that from 2:45 until almost 7:30, the house is pulled in 40 different directions. So much so that we’ve taken to calling it "Tumultuous Tuesdays." I’ve come to believe that complicated family activity logistics are the very definition of First World Pain (and sort of resemble dreams – they’re boring to everyone except the people directly involved in them) so I won’t say more than this: Boy do I appreciate a meal ready-to-go when we all walk in the door. I've called the dinner table many things in my career as a blogger ("magic guilt eraser", "7:00 magnetic north," "a god@#m% freaking warzone") but on these kinds of nights there's one word that's top of brain:
Tumultuous Tuesdays
Tumultuous Tuesdays
Tumultuous Tuesdays
If you opened my refrigerator on a Tuesday afternoon, there’s a good chance you’d find my green Dansk pot sitting on the bottom shelf filled with dinner. I try to limit any scheduled work events that day because the way after-school activities have shaken down for the past year, is that from 2:45 until almost 7:30, the house is pulled in 40 different directions. So much so that we’ve taken to calling it "Tumultuous Tuesdays." I’ve come to believe that complicated family activity logistics are the very definition of First World Pain (and sort of resemble dreams – they’re boring to everyone except the people directly involved in them) so I won’t say more than this: Boy do I appreciate a meal ready-to-go when we all walk in the door. I've called the dinner table many things in my career as a blogger ("magic guilt eraser", "7:00 magnetic north," "a god@#m% freaking warzone") but on these kinds of nights there's one word that's top of brain: