Whenever I get tired, I can’t be funny or creative anymore. It’s the worst part of being tired, in my opinion. 


I remember one time after my third child was born when I had just returned to work full-time. He was about ten weeks old (because America is ridiculous in that regard) and I was not getting more than five non-consecutive hours of sleep night after night after night. 

I was supposed to send an email to a large group of people, and I wanted to open it with something funny. After staring at my computer screen for a solid ten minutes (and reminding myself at least three times of what I was supposed to be doing) I finally announced to my office mate, “You know, I think I’ve forgotten how to be funny.”


I tackled a very ambitious cleaning project this weekend and am as focused and stubborn as a mountain goat when I’ve got a project like that to accomplish. I don’t know exactly how many hours I worked without stopping, but I collapsed into my bed at midnight last night and woke up early to go at it again this morning. And I finished. But when it came to writing this blog post, whew, I guess I fractured my funny bone. 


Happy Sunday eve! Thanks for reading.