I want a cup of tea.
Not herbal. The real stuff. With milk and sugar.
And I want someone to make me popovers.
Which I will eat warm with a little butter and cinnamon sugar.
I want someone to wash my duvet cover and then put it back on my comforter. Because if we’re honest with each other, that is a four-person job.
I want a week to declutter, shuffle and reshuffle, purge (stuff, not vomit – though both usually make you feel better), think about writing something, nap.
I want dinner to be done, meals planned. But really, I want to do that stuff myself.
I want a bedside clock for my husband that isn’t the brightest clock on the planet.
I want the socks paired.
Oh the socks.
I want not to worry about the four RSVPs, camps, birthday party to plan.
I want to be grateful that I have parties, camps, birthday parties to worry about.
I want new work shoes that I don’t have to break in.
I want to use the hours between 8:30pm and 10:30pm wisely at least once a week.
I want to figure out how on earth to spend more time being and less time doing.
I want to cook every day. Walk every day. Sleep more. Pick up less. Read to my kids more. Explore more. Love more. Give more. Fight more for the things I think are worth fighting for. And sit on a blanket on the grass in the sun.
I want to spend more time doing silly and creative things, and less time wondering what could have possibly spilled on the floor to make it that sticky. I want more time with my kids. I want more time with my husband. I want more time by myself.
I want more time having grown-up conversations. With wine. I want more music in my house. I want less dust. I want my kids to eat less yogurt.
I want more dancing in my life.
And I want the thank you notes to write themselves.