We were both raised in relatively conservative households and, although the “rules” were slightly different in each, one of the commonalities was the constant nagging suspicion that we should be doing more. The guilt for not attending the birthday of our third cousin who lives four states away, for not doing the extra credit in history class, for not finishing the nasty little chewy bits of steak when there are starving children somewhere who would supposedly die for this overcooked rubber (highly doubtful) … the list goes on.

Since we’ve ventured away from these dens of remorse, we’ve shed most of those feelings and now happily spend time at the spa with no hard feelings. (Truthfully, this should be seen as a legitimate business need, as no one can be creative when they’re tense.) But every once in a while those nagging feelings come creeping back in that we’re just not getting enough done.

We have to admit, we’re pretty efficient. Most of the time we do cross the finish line, but unfortunately we’re the people gasping for air who have just soiled themselves. Just once we’d love to come striding confidently across with a cute bead of sweat on our forehead and perfectly coiffed hair.

There are always the little mix ups. Like when one of us forgot that the tooth fairy was supposed to come, and found herself commando crawling across her son’s floor at 5:30 in the morning in a desperate attempt to reach the bed before he woke up. Of course she didn’t have the appropriate change, so he was the lucky recipient of a 20 spot. Now that’s a fabulous precedent.

Or when the other one of us rushed out the door for a very important meeting and realized once she reached the subway that she forgot to put on make-up. (The horrified looks of the passersby was her first clue that something was amiss.) 

Most days we feel pretty good about what we’ve accomplished, but sometimes the daily list just feels a bit much. Kinda like this:


A bit much.