About a week ago, I plopped myself down on the couch next to my seemingly lounging husband. The kids were playing nicely for once and I began chitchatting about a TV show that was on. He politely, but emphatically, shushed me and said, “Hold on, I’m thinking,” and proceeded to continue sitting in silence for no less than another five minutes.

As I sat there, a little taken back by the request to not talk to him, I began thinking to myself.

Thinking about how nice it would be to have the luxury of thinking without interruption.

Thinking about the last time I had five solid minutes of peace to sit and do nothing but think about a specific topic of my choosing.

My introspective thoughts about thinking quickly were overtaken with more pressing thoughts, however.

Thoughts like:

I really should switch the clothes over to the dryer before I forget. Otherwise, Hunter won’t have his school spirit wear for tomorrow’s spirit day at preschool.

When should I start potty training Tess? She keeps asking about the potty but it really would be easier to tackle that [stuff] in the summer.

I should start searching potty seats to have on hand for whenever we chose to start.

Potty training a girl has to be easier than potty training a boy, right? No aiming. Must remember to bribe with Peppa Pig undies.

Undies! Hunter is out of clean underwear! They’re in the wash. I just need to switch that laundry over to the dryer and all will be set in the morning.

I’ll pack up his lunch tonight so the morning is less frantic. Is tomorrow the day he’s allowed to bring a heat-up lunch? No, pretty sure it’s not. We’ll just do our default sunbutter sandwich.

Sunbutter is so nasty! I feel bad for kids who are never allowed peanut butter sandwiches because of allergies.

Did kids have allergies like that when I was a kid? I’m 99 percent sure I had zero friends with peanut allergies.

Maybe that persistent diaper rash on Tess is actually an allergic reaction to that new diaper cream I bought. It’s supposed to be for sensitive skin but …

If she keeps getting a diaper rash, maybe I should just go ahead and start potty training now.

Hunter was almost 3 when we started with him. He still can’t button his own pants.

Are his only elastic band jeans in the wash?


Maybe Tess’ rash is a reaction to our detergent.

I should probably go back to the expensive detergent packs instead of the powder. The powder is just so much cheaper!

Would powder help her rash? Didn’t my mom used to douse my bum with powder after every diaper change?

She also used powdered milk. I’m not banking my baby’s bottom on the logic of someone who used powdered milk!

Hunter is probably old enough to switch to low-fat milk. He doesn’t need all the fat in Tess’ organic whole milk. I’ll buy some next time I go to the store.

That will make three different milk varieties that I purchase: whole, 2% and almond. How they squeeze milk out of an almond, I’ll never understand. Still, it’s a fairly tasty substitute. (And pretty dang low in carbs.)

Carbs. Oh, how I love you. You are my kryptonite.

All I want is a big turkey sandwich on fluffy bread. Maybe if I do some extra squats tomorrow I can “earn” a bready treat.

Do I have any clean leggings to work out in? I should throw them in the wash.


Just as I get up to finally move that wash over to the dryer, my husband enters reality again.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” he says.

“About what?” I ask, thinking it must be pretty in-depth thoughts because he’s devoted what seems like the better part of the last hour to it.

“I think I’m going to go ahead and record the playoff game on Sunday and just watch it after the kids go to bed. You know, when it’s quiet.”

Then he adds, “What were you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing.” I say, as I go to tackle the wash—and the rest of the universe.