Monday, February 1st
– Rise slowly from bed, arms outstretched, feet thudding to the ground.
– Groan with agony that somehow never awakens your snoring husband.
– Shiver outside with the dog while he pees.
– Remember to be grateful for the freezing air that slaps you awake.
– Run on the treadmill, each thump of the foot synchronized to the pounding in your temples.
– Slump in the shower, enduring the mercy of the scalding water.
– Tie damp, thinning hair in usual ponytail.
– Dab on makeup to cover up the aging, crumbling flesh.
– Drink the coffee.
– Wake the children and shield your head from their outrage.
– Make the beds, erasing nights of their untroubled slumbers.
– Cook the breakfast.
– Make the children lunch.
– Drive them to the bus stop.
– Remember to say you love them.
– Drink the reheated coffee from a travel mug.
– Start the first load of the infinite pile of laundry.
– Put the coffee mug in the dishwasher and turn on.
– Join work video meeting.
– Remember to smile.
– Finish work spreadsheets in between cleaning toilets.
– Call dentist to make appointments for everyone except you.
– Don’t show anyone your rotting teeth.
– Join work meeting number two and accomplish nothing.
– Remember to wave goodbye.
– Clean up dog pee because your work meeting ran long.
– Feed the dog.
– Pick up preordered groceries on lunch break.
– Drink the Diet Coke in lieu of real food.
– Switch laundry, momentarily mesmerized by the swirling suds washing away the others’ adventures.
– Call your mother and help her through the renewal of her car registration.
– Check the makeup to ensure skin decay is still secreted.
– Join work video meeting number three. Leave with twenty follow up items.
– Remember to give a thumbs up.
– Pick up the mail and toss bills onto already heaping pile.
– Meet the children at the bus stop.
– Remember to listen to their stories.
– Drive the child to piano
– Drive the other child to karate.
– Answer a work phone call in car.
– Remember to have your license and registration ready when you are pulled over for illegal cell phone use.
– Help children with homework.
– Remember you can’t do math.
– Respond to three work emails.
– Make the dinner that everyone complains about.
– Drink the wine.
– Clean up the dinner plates.
– Usher children to the shower and referee the bickering over who goes first.
– Tell the bedtime stories.
– Reassure the littlest that there are no monsters in her closet.
– Remember to blink.
– Yell at the children to go to sleep.
– Check the work email.
– Drink the wine.
– Beg the husband to take out the garbage so you can finally sit down.
– Pretend to care about which television show he wants to watch.
– Remember to nod in agreement.
– Stare at the television, at the people who are so beautiful, so happy, so alive.
– Be grateful to the muscle memory that folds the laundry.
– Go to bed.
– Remember to kiss the husband.
– Lay awake, picturing a spinning ceiling with tipsy, giggling girlfriends in wide-leg jeans that suck up the water from the snow laden sidewalks like sponges.
– Remain awake, gazing out the window and nearly feel a warm breeze kiss your cheek and seafoam tickle your toes.
– Still awake, staring at your sleeping husband and remember gentle fingers grazing flesh and soft murmurs of always.
– Always awake.
– Glare the at the clock.
– Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tuesday, February 2nd
– Rise slowly from bed, arms outstretched, feet thumping to ground.
– Always remember to blink.
Connie Millard is a full-time working mom of three who once made it to the final callbacks for the reality television show, Worst Cooks in America. After much practice and perseverance, she now spends her time writing stories in between stirring risotto. Her work has appeared in 365Tomorrows and is a sucker for a good pun.