Disclaimer: This post is sponsored by RYOBI Tools. All opinions and sawdusty leggings are my own.
The thing about giving DIY advice is that sometimes people end up elbow-deep in DIY misery . . . and it’s all because of you. Gulp.
It started off innocently, as it always does.
Sometimes you need to shake things up and do something that feels unnatural, and it ends up being the best thing you could have ever done.
In this case, I’m breaking out of the box.
The box being MY HOME OFFICE a.k.a. the world’s tiniest box.
Remember when it was pale pink and heavy on the Jennifer Aniston photos? Circa 2012/2013?
Then I gave it a makeover with some bright red paint (it was supposed to be super deep fushica but something must have went wrong, and I just rolled with it). The very talented Darling Husband built a huge custom L-shaped desk (which then morphed into a U-shaped desk because I needed ALL THE SPACE.)
And it was great …
Except, even when it was VERY clean, it was still intensely crowded and chaotic … Read More
So the kids were out of the house on Saturday from 9:30 a.m. to about 7 p.m. I have no idea what they were doing, but I do know where they were.
They are seven and five, so this independence might sound a little surprising. But it was a truly great Saturday.
I drove them nowhere, and prepared exactly zero meals (after showing the youngest how to toast her own bagel, which she has been delighted in doing every morning since). They ate lunch and dinner across the street, and even watched a movie there before bedtime.
Then, on Sunday, I had my two kids plus my “third child” all day. His own parents didn’t see him from 11 a.m. to just after 6 p.m. I gave them all lunch and dinner, and had the kids walk him home in time for everyone’s Sunday night bath/shower.
I think his mom painted a room while she had the house to herself, while I helped my sister sew her Halloween costume during my day “off.” It was an excellent weekend for both of us.
What’s with the absentee kids — and the extra kid? It’s a new thing I’ve been trying out. It’s called “When your kids are obsessed with another kid and you start to forget whose kid is whose.”