I spent the weekend being productive.
At least, that’s what I thought I was doing.
I didn’t lounge. I didn’t binge-watch a single thing. I was busy. I was doing things.
Little things.
The five-minute tasks you put off until they pile up like a week’s worth of vacation laundry.
Nothing flashy—just quiet, nagging nonsense that needed to be done.
But by Sunday night, I looked around and wondered,
“What exactly did I do?”
Let’s review the highlight reel:
- I fixed my son’s water bottle lid so we can finally use it as a spare at my parents’ house. A thrilling repair that no one will ever see or thank me for.
- I moved the case of water off the sun porch. It had only been there since April. Or maybe March? Don’t judge me.
- I reorganized my dresser drawers after weeks of shoving shirts in like I was training for the Olympic team in chaotic folding. Ever since my mom gifted me with some great basics she shrunk out of (aging has its perks—for me), I’ve been cramming shirts into the drawers like I’m stuffing a sleeping bag. Now they’re neatly folded, and I feel like Marie Kondo… if Marie Kondo were constantly interrupted by children needing snacks.
- I cleaned out the tray of magnetic letters and numbers from the easel—letters that hadn’t seen the light of day under an inch of chalk dust and pastel nubs.
- I cleared the floor of my home office-slash-sports-equipment-holding-cell, where balls, bats, and mystery gear routinely creep out past the doorway like they’re trying to escape.
And yet… the house doesn’t look cleaner.
There’s no dramatic “after” photo.
No admiring gaze from a family member who notices that the clutter has been reduced by exactly one basket.
Just… slightly less chaos.
Because the truth is, there’s no fanfare for relocating a winter hat from the coat closet to the laundry room—in July.
But these things take up space. In the house. In my brain. So if you also spent your weekend doing a bunch of “nothing,” solidarity.
We’re out here, keeping the mess just barely at bay. One five-minute task at a time.
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