Slogging through

I've reached that time of year when I feel like life is Santa's sleigh, and I'm the littlest reindeer. I can't keep up and the cold steel runners are getting closer to my tail all the time.

I can no longer come up with creative school lunches. If it's in a paper sack and includes a bag of chips, it's lunch.

The laundry now has its own address. If it's not moving on its own, it's clean.

The sink and the dishwasher are both full, and I don't know which dishes are clean and which ones are dirty. I'm resorting to paper plates.

The cupboard is bare and I don't have time to go the grocery store. More truthfully, I don't want to go anywhere there might be a line of people. Spinach and peanut butter are a balanced meal, get over it.

I'm really, really ready to run away to my dream home in the mountains...

A little cabin far away, with no phone, no TV, ma-a-aa-ybe internet, no neighbors, no traffic, and my groceries delivered by pack mule once a month.

The whole Gnome-Mom-left-behind would be a good thing. Please, I beg you, leave me behind.