Last Tuesday, at 6:47 AM, I realized my brain had become a server room.
I tried to go on strike once. A quiet one. I stopped reminding. I stopped refilling the soap dispenser. I stopped mentally tracking the expiration date on the car seat. For three days, we lived in chaos. The four-year-old wore two different rain boots. The baby ate a cracker off the floor of the bus. My husband looked at me with genuine confusion: “Why didn’t you say something?” mutha magazine
The only way out isn’t a chore chart. Chore charts are just another thing for us to manage. The only way out is to stop being the server. To let the Wi-Fi crash. To let someone else reboot the router. Last Tuesday, at 6:47 AM, I realized my