Routines, routines, routines.

Sunday night. My favorite time of the week. I love family dinners and preparing for the week ahead and settling in for a quiet, restful evening.

The laundry is done and clothes are laid out for tomorrow. Lunch boxes and backpacks are ready. Boots are lined up. Typically at this time of night Steve would be watching football and we'd each be plunking away on our laptops chatting with friends on-line or browsing our favorite forums. Tonight the house is quiet. The kids are in bed, the television is off, the dog is curled up in the chair where Steve usually sits, and I sit here listening to the tick-tock of the dining room clock.

I stink at keeping routines, but I know that a sense of predictability to their days will be important for the kids over the next few weeks. I want to make the fact that their dad is away from home as easy as possible for them - and for me. I don't know if I lack self discipline or I'm just plain lazy or what, but this is always the hardest part for me. I've never been able to keep up with a journal; I stink at the Flylady housekeeping plan; I'm terrible about working out on a regular basis. How am I supposed to make this work for myself and two little people?

I suppose it's time to put on my Big Girl panties and just do it, eh?