Eat one ( or two or three) of the warm cookies that come out of the oven on Sunday morning.
Some mornings don't allow any other option, you just have to go back to bed.
Sometimes you just have to rock your baby to sleep and hold them for a long, long time after they've nodded off and drown out the voices from your fear-mongering parenting book saying you'll raise an incompetent, overly dependent child if you do.
Fall asleep on the couch.
Clean the ailing corners in your bathroom. Those dark-looking ones.
Buy the pair of boots you've been eying your whole life, or at least a year or two.
Come to grips with the fact that couponing is not your calling.
Eat the last container of homemade raspberry jam from the freezer, knowing it is the very last one until next summer.
Say happy birthday to your sister. Happy birthday Gabe!
Until next time...
