Weekend Log: What's your bookshelf hygiene?

Buenos dias, Midlifers—

Ba-bam, this short week lived up to its name. You know how sometimes the shortest weeks feel like the longest? As if there were three Wednesdays in the middle instead of just one?

This post-MDW stretch was pretty zippy. I returned to work on Tuesday and had to relearn everything we do in the corporate trenches. A completely unplugged four-day weekend really helps you forget everything you do at your 9-to-5. It was like I had to take all of that first day back to relearn my job and get back up to speed. It was like I was returning to school to start fifth grade after that endless summer break and could not remember how to math.

By Wednesday, I was back in business, aligning hard, and then after work met one of my dear Hens—who was in town for work— for sushi and cannoli soft ice cream. Then we headed back to my new place and just like in the dorm bathroom in UD’s Smyth, we brushed our teeth and washed our faces side-by-side at my double sinks. The 60-year-old versions of our selves have a lot more products to work with and discuss than our 19-year-old selves. I examined her exfoliating cleanser she loves and she rubbed some of my fancy serum between her fingers.

We sat on my big IKEA couch way past my bedtime chatting and then reconvened super early for coffee and toasted bagels before she had to get ready and leave for a day of meetings. Ugh, it went way too fast and I’d like to do it every week. Wouldn’t that be amazing? To host regular slumber parties with dear friends? I am so here for piling my hair on top of my head to compare beauty products or cozying up on a couch in my bathrobe to trade stories. Really feeds my hungry soul.

Good for me then that my younger daughter is headed home for the weekend for a belated birthday celebration. I have been told by my son that I cannot ask his sister to do any of the “dad jobs” around here and to allow her to relax, and I’m really going to try to stick to my word.

Lucky for her I went ahead and assembled some recent IKEA purchases. And by “I,” I mean “me and my son.” For the first time in —ever?—I had to slum it and do my own dirty work and put together a chair and ottoman I bought for my bedroom. And my son watched golf and assembled bookcases I bought for my office — which brings me to the point of today’s post.