Sounds kind of like phenomenon

I woke up before the alarm went off, having a few moments to relish the anticipation of the day ahead. I took a deep breath through my nose, and do you know what I smelled? Absolutely nothing! Allergies had rendered me stuffy, and apparently I do not live in a coffee commercial. There are no happy faces in our 6 a.m. world, rather two teenagers who see me as the destroyer of all things comfy and dreamy.

I was the first person to arrive downstairs, and glanced around at our home. Such love, such warmth, such...Why the hell were there so many dishes in the sink? Was I really too tired to address that situation the night before? Did I honestly believe that the dried on bits of food on each plate would be a welcome challenge? Maybe I just plain forgot that I would be the first one on the scene in the dark early morning. Wait, was that sheepish look on the dog's face going to require further investigation? Rough night pooch? There is no chance for me to unsee what I have seen and go back to bed, even though I am the only person with nowhere to be.

Eventually everyone made their merry way downstairs and out the front door, leaving a new trail of odds and ends for me to sort and classify. Once the bottom of the kitchen sink and the counter top had been found, I could turn my attention elsewhere. But where? In which direction should I turn to find the sort of folly that will make my day seem legendary? The vacuum cleaner hardly seems like the stuff dreams are made of...not these dreams anyway. My Dyson and I can protect the family from the growing population of dust elephants another day. 

Today I must look inside myself to find a plan, search the cobwebs of my mind for some spark, my own tingling spidey-sense. The first step is the tricky one, or is it? Step...step, step, step...step, step. The pedometer clipped to my pajama bottoms reads 1,147, which is not bad for 7:00 a.m. Watching those numbers change as I lap my kitchen, getting some breakfast, puts an extra bit of pizazz in the experience.

More steps when I head upstairs to get dressed. What to wear, where to go...must take more steps. A voice tells me that mom jeans are not going to cut it for this trek. I wasn’t going for some leisurely stroll. I was headed on an arm-pumping, heart-rate rising mission. The Under Armour that still has tags on it catches my eye, and even my trusty Nikes tell me to "Just Do It"! I needed to escape the evil forces of dryer lint and become my own superhero. A quick run to the craft supply closet for some embellishments…more steps, more steps…

There is a two-mile route through the neighborhood mapped out, and that road is calling for...PEDOMEMOM!  

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