Eating the Frog Is Nothing to a Cajun Girl

I know Eating the Frog is some sort of (still-unread-by-me) book, but I thought of the concept a long time before that book was ever written. You should know that, to a Cajun girl like me, frog legs are just part of a well-rounded buffet. Everyone eats the frog! Instead, I call it drinking the milk. Remember that plate of red beans and rice, mustard greens, and cornbread? (Okay, maybe that's a Southern thing?) Your teacher wouldn't let you get rid of your plate until you "at least drank some milk?" I remember. I hated white milk more than frogs. At least milk was good for me, though, so I drank the milk.

This morning, I decided to drink the milk before I got on-line. Even more critical, I drank the milk before I put my preschooler to nap in my bedroom and could not disturb him, since THAT mistake is the reason that a pile of clothes is neatly stacked in the corner of my room. For two weeks now, I do laundry in the morning. The dryer dings right after lunch, about the same time that my 3 year old, who used to fight nap times, whispers, "I'll nap, if I can nap on your pillow." No sane mom would ruin that easy compromise by walking into said bedroom, right? So the clothes stay, stacked. The book I read late last night sat on the floor - and since it's actually a Nook waiting to be stepped on, that's not okay. My water cup from yesterday, threatening to spill, at my bedside table. (I have sleep problems and won't interrupt possible sleep to erase the evidence.) My shoes cluttered the floor. This morning, while Loki sat at the kitchen table and ate cereal, I put away the laundry. I dropped the water cup into the sink. The shoes went into the closet, on the shoe rack. The Nook got plugged in.

I drank the milk. My bones feel stronger already.

Etcetera.