Back To School: Time To Get Organized

In a week, it is back to school. YAY!!! I don’t mean to sound too happy, I love having the kids around and all that, but seriously, I need time to do stuff. Important things like blogging and. . . yeah, other. . . stuff.

So in seven days, the world belongs to me!! With all this free time in my hands, I should be able to come up with an awesome invention by the end of the week, realign the continents on Earth come October, and conquer a few planets before Thanksgiving. I am getting dizzy thinking about all the possibilities…

I’ll have a full six hours, all to myself. Six hours. That’s 360 minutes.  I don’t mean to brag, but with all the multi-tasking I do, 6 hours probably equates  to 30 hours of freedom IN ONE day. At least!

Like the good mom that I am, the first day of school, I intend to drop my kids at school a little early so that the trip back home doesn’t eat any of my 360 minutes – Parent of the year crown, here I come!!! But I don’t care, it’s MY TIME! All 360 minutes of it, and I will do WHATEVER I PLEASE!!!

I’m just hoping that I’m off to a better start this year than  last year. Because last “Back to school” did not live up to its promise. Not one bit…

Firstly, everybody started and ended their schedule at very different times. That day should not have been called “Back to school”, but “Kinda Back to some little tiny bits of school”. By the time I had finished dropping off the third kid, it was almost time to pick up the first one! These few round trips cost me 120 minutes of my precious, precious time.

Then, I don’t know what happened, but time got sucked into another dimension and pouf!! The remaining 240 minutes disappeared. Just like that! No time for anything! Not even the essentials, like filling the fridge, getting dressed. Nothing! So another name for “kinda back to school” day should be, “PJ” day as far as I am concerned…

When my husband came home, he found our kitchen table like this…


YES! These are breakfast bowls, honey!!!!

He knew better than to say anything to me, especially when I looked like I did not inject, swallow or breathe any caffeine (I did not have time for coffee…) but he did not need to. His eyes said it for him. Something along the lines of, “Really? You did not even pick up the breakfast bowls?”

Pfff…. Men are unbelievable! I mean, what did he think I did while he was sitting comfortably at his desk, chatting on the phone! I had been running around, ALL DAY, doing… you know… Stuff! A lot of them.  It’s not like I was wasting my energy, or being inefficient and disorganized. No, that was the OLD me! The new me is on top of things! If only I just had two more hours in the day…

To get ideas on what to do on “Back To School” day, check out this hilarious video from WhatsUpMoms.


When Coffee’s Just Not Enough

The world is divided between two types of moms: the ones that are switched on as soon as they are awake. They are easily recognizable because they jump out of bed, are up with the sun, and have rebuilt half of the world by the time the other kind of moms dare opening an eyelid . . . I know this alien type exists because my neighbor is one of them. She gets up in the middle of the night and starts being all productive and efficient. Although, frankly, I’ll never know whether she really does, how would I?

Then there’s the rest of us: we roll out of bed because our kids are pulling us by the hair, and we cannot even talk or do anything until we have two or three cups of coffee. Surely, saving the world can wait for coffee time to be over. Most mornings are on auto-pilot, so while we drink our coffee, we prepare breakfast, pack lunch, load kids in the car and drop them at school. Sometimes it’s the wrong kid at the wrong school, with the wrong backpack, but nobody’s expected to be perfect, right?

Some mornings are more challenging. Like when your too-smart-for-his-own-mom tween decides to crack a joke he read the night before,


– Hmmm, shhhh, eat your breakfast.

– No, mom, listen, what’s the area of a pumpkin divided by its diameter?

– Huh? dunno

– Pumpkin pi!”

What the . . . ? Whatever, at least, he’s doing some math. ”

Then two hours (and a few coffees) later, “Oh, pi! I get it.”

Needless to say, the joke’s totally wasted on me and maybe I should think about buying stronger coffee.

But then, there are those mornings where coffee’s just not enough.  No matter how strong, no matter how many. Like this morning, when my daughter said,

“Mom, how old was I last year?”  Easy, I can totally handle that!

“You were five, honey

– So last year, when I was five, I was four last year.

-No, you were five.

-I knoowwwwww. But when I was five, I was four last year.

– What?

-Argh, mooooom!” Roll of the eyes from six year old teenager, plus repeat the above conversation with increasing volume and frustration until I walked away, because I didn’t know what else to do.

I don’t care what time of the day it is, that kind of conversation can only be handled sensibly with margaritas. . .











And if you think that’s crazy-talk, check out fact number 21 on this list


Blogcation: Is There such Thing As Too Much Frenchness

Even when you believe you have seen it all in France, you realize that the most insignificant thing can have so many layers.

Take this sign for example,


Castorama is a DIY shop, like Home Depot, except, French. This sign is plastered on a bus stop and indicates to drivers that the next shop is 2 minutes ahead. Apparently, nothing wrong or strange about this sign. It is located on the right road, the next Castorama is indeed ahead in the pointed direction. I have passed this sign every summer, for the past seven years. And despite the fact that it looks perfectly innocent, something has been bugging me about it. I could not put my finger on it. Until yesterday…

Castorama is 4 miles away from this sign. I don’t mean to bore you with maths during summer vacation, but if you are able to drive 4 miles in 2 minutes, that means you are doing….. 120 miles an hour. The speed limit on the road that goes to Castorama is a combination of 30, 45 and 55 miles an hour. So, yeah…

And to add insult to injury, this road ALWAYS has traffic cops checking the speed limit. So really, this sign should either read, “Castorama, 10 minutes”, but somehow, it does not have the same appeal. Or, “Castorama, 2 minutes, 500 euro fine and 3 points on your license”.

French just don’t care..

Have you ever come across any inaccurate, weird or plain fun billboards? Here is a selection I found on the internet for your enjoyment . . .


Blogcation: Is There Such Thing As Too Much Frenchness

This was one of my favorite posts from last summer. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do!

Let’s start with a disclaimer: I am French, and somehow, it gives me the right to make fun of my peers. Don’t know why it is more okay than if I was not, but that’s that.

Also, I am the queen of French attitude. Everything I write in here, I probably do it, except in a lot worse. So really, all I am doing is laugh at my imperfections. Now if you must take offense, just keep these in mind… And stop being so French!!!

Yesterday, as I was driving back home, I saw something very… What’s the word? . . . Unique. The road that leads to my house street is very narrow, bumpy and damaged. Two cars can barely fit for most of it. On some occasions, a vehicle has to stop to give way to one coming from the other direction. This fact alone can provide substantial material for many, many posts. Just imagine: if you are driving in New Jersey, on a road with another car coming the other way and room only for one car to go through, this will lead to a long face off, with colorful language and some level of road rage. For sure! Well, in France, that would be the case if all goes well…

Anyway, like I said, the road to my house is really old and in a pretty horrendous state. Every year, it’s getting worse and worse. But we are only here a few weeks a year so we just moan about it while we are here, and then forget about it once we leave. However, somebody must have complained.

The road safety guys – whoever that is in France, wasted no time in investigating the matter. They came. They saw, And they took IMMEDIATE action in the form of this…

sign (600x800)

This sign reads, “Caution, potholes about to appear”. Don’t you love this? They brought a truck, some concrete, a pneumatic drill and a few guys. Not to fix the potholes, but to install this sign. YOU GOTTA give it to the French: they are incredibly creative. Man I love these guys!


Things That Shouldn’t Be

You want to believe that everything happens for a reason. You’re not entirely sure it does, but you desperately want to believe it. It helps make sense of why the cat puked on the bed. Or why your child has still not slept a full night, at age four. Or why the dishwasher leaked while you were away for the week-end. You have been using your dishwasher every day for the past 12 years, without problem. And on the one week end you are not here, one week end in over ten years, THIS happened. But you’re not one to blame bad luck or be all superstitious. No, you are a believer, so you have to believe there’s a reason for all this.

Likewise, you want to believe that everything is here for a reason. Every living species has a role to play in our eco system. Even coackroches , or cicadas. It might not be obvious to some of us. Personally, I have my doubts about ants. I feel that they’ve just been put on this Earth to bug me, who knows?

But despite all this strong belief that you’re trying to stick with, some stuff just don’t make any sense, don’t you think? Some things seem to have no purpose, no use, and no reason to be: completely, utterly useless stuff. Here are my top three:


Clothes labels. Why would anyone put them at the top of tee shirts and in the back? Just so that they can stick out, without you noticing, all day long? So you walk around, with your super nice shirt, a bit full of yourself because you think you look so good, when in fact, you are displaying that you are wearing 50% spandex, and 50% cotton that cannot be bleached, tumbled dry, or washed in hot temperature – which is what all labels say anyway, so what’s the point of that? Other than being put here to make you look ridiculous, I don’t get these labels.


Lawn weed. What’s that for? It’s not pretty, it has no job, it’s not even soft on the feet. It doesn’t do anything to help the environment. Nobody likes lawn weed. And with all the chemicals that are poured on it all the time, it’s a miracle that thing’s not extinct yet.

Mosquitoes.  What is the point of a mosquito? These vampires with wings do nothing, but suck your blood and prevent you from enjoying a nice evening outside, under the stars. Plus, as if they were not pestering you enough with being nasty and ugly, they also make this annoying buzzing noise that is guaranteed to drive you insane when you try to go to sleep. “Bzzzzzzzz” is mosquito language for, “I’m here, and as soon as you close you eyes, I’ll be stinging you on the nose and drink this nectar of yours that you call blood . . Good night!” Mosquitoes are horrible and pointless.

I know everyone has their own list of useless stuff and it’s probably very different from mine. For example, I asked one of my boys what was top three on his useless list. He answered: maths, Brussel sprouts and underwear. I have to say, it’s a good list, I don’t entirely disagree with it . . .

What’s your top three list of useless things you would want rid of, if only you ruled the universe? if you need some inspiration, check out this list of 31 pointless things . . .



A Few Lessons Learnt

This post was originally published on WorldMomsBlog 07/14/15

Sometimes, being kind hearted can bite you in the butt, you know. I’m not advocating to notbe kind. But just be aware that sometimes, you get more than the satisfaction of having helped a cause. You get a nagging child who won’t let you be until you surrender.

I know the feeling too well because when I was a teenager, I was tasked with walking my dog in the evening. I used to live in a town, and before going to bed, my last job was to drag my old dog for a stroll. More often than not, I wouldn’t come back for a long time. So my worried father would rush outside, looking for me. I was never far, just down the road, standing outside of the building where homeless guys came to hang around. I’d be there with them, chatting. As soon as I’d spot my dad, I would ask him if they could come and sleep at home. Invariably, my dad would smile, and say, “Maybe not tonight.” Then he would lecture me about how we couldn’t invite strangers that we meet in the street to come and stay at our home. I really couldn’t see why not.

As history has a funny way of repeating itself, the other day, I took my three kids to give a helping hand to charitable organizations that had conglomerated together for the day. My daughter wrote Valentine Cards for veterans. (So if you got something with Elsa on it, you know where it came from.) My sons decided to make toys for sheltered animals. Awww, so sweet. I helped them make play balls for cats, and tug toy thingies for dogs. After a few hours, it was time to wrap up. I was looking for one of my sons, and spotted him talking with the lady from the animal shelter.

As soon as he saw me approaching, he started, “Mom, the lady says that if I really want to help animals, the best thing to do is to adopt them. I think we should. I really want to help.”

  • Me:  “No.”
  • My son:  “Oh come on, Mom. It would be such a nice thing to do.”
  • Me:  “Not a chance in the world. Absolutely not. No way. Never. Is that clear?”

The shelter lady was a bit taken aback by my dry, stroppy tone so she volunteered to help reach a compromise, “Well, maybe if you don’t want to adopt, you could be a foster family for some of our animals. That would be helpful as well.”

Normally, I am all about compromise. I think it shows social intelligence, respect for others and promotes a healthy atmosphere. But on that particular occasion, this is how I responded to compromising,

“Look, lady, what part of “Not a chance in the world. Absolutely not. No way. Never” was unclear to you? Come on boys, we have to go.” And I walked away, fuming.

I can definitely say that I achieved a few things on that day. Being a charitable soul was nowhere on the list of accomplishments though:

  1. My son has been calling me “mean” and “horrible” more times than I can count, so all in all, it was a great bonding moment.
  2. The shelter lady might have lost faith in the human race – I know I would have if I had met me!
  3. Even my pets look at me funny. They can sense I said a big, fat “no” to a potentially really fun time with pals.

This was my version of teaching empathy to my kids. Not sure how I am going to top that one next year.

Of course, I am exaggerating. We did go to the event and my son did nag me to get a dog, or ten. But we didn’t argue about it. Instead, we discussed how you should only commit yourself to what you can handle, and how it would be a lot worse to sign up for something and not assume the responsibilities in the long run. The big lesson was, “Think about the consequences of your choices”.

That day, I felt really proud of myself for tackling such a serious topic with tact, elegance and poise. Well done me! As I was leaving my son’s bedroom after kissing him good night, feeling like mother of the year, he chimed, “But Mom, when can we adopt a dog then?” Em…

How do you teach (seriously!) lessons about empathy and responsibility to your children?



A very serious blog about fashion For Moms

Fashion is not just for super slim beautiful young ladies under twenty, who can run with ten inch heels and squeeze their already tiny waist in even tinier outfits. Nonononono!! Fashion is for moms too. Not that we cannot be as beautiful, but we certainly aren’t as young. We might no be as tiny either, and our bunions might make it challenging to squeeze into anything smaller than our husband’s shoes. But still, there’s something about us, a glow, a “Je-ne-sais-quoi”, that makes us special, beautiful, and oh so fashionable.

So for all the moms out there, don’t think that trends and sexiness are a thing of the past. All you need to do, is adapt your style to the new you. And in case you are in need of some fashion tips, I am happy to oblige with some life-saving advice . . . You are welcome!

Tip one: less is more.

When it comes to make up, layering a serum, hydrating cream, foundation and powder is not only time consuming, but also pretty useless. Because the next day, when you wake up, you’re still one day older, which will eventually turn into months, years and then wrinkles. So there is little point in spending thousands of dollars to delay the inevitable: you are growing older, and one day, it will show. Plus, honestly, if you don’t put anything on your face in the morning, you don’t need to take it off at night, and can save yourself precious minutes of de-layering. So my fashion tip for make up is, “Less is more and none is best”

Tip two: the natural look

Complicated hairdo with tons of spray that make you look like you have a bird nest hung at the back of your head is sooo yesterday. When it comes to hair, let your beautiful long mane express itself by giving it the freedom it deserves. Let it be, and allow its nature to shine. Quite literally, if the nature of your hair is greasy. Let it freeze, let it flow, let it gray! Kim Kardashian has a hair stylist who waits for her as soon as she gets out of bed. You don’t, so don’t bother, you’ll never achieve that look. Instead, enjoy an extra fifteen minutes in bed, snoring your wrinkly, greasy head off!

Tip three: a little accessorizing goes a long way

Wardrobe needn’t be complicated to scream class and taste. Sometimes, adding a simple accessory to a plain look can have a huge impact. For example, if you want to turn your everyday outfit into an inspiring, sleek evening gown, simply wear a bra under your pyjama.

Tip four: well being comes from the inside.

As you know, feeling good is as important as looking the part. Of course, exercising regularly would be fabulous, if only there was an extra hour in the day that we could waste on being vain. But we all know that’s not gonna happen any time soon. However, all hope is not lost. Because the next best thing to running a marathon every morning and packing one hundred push ups, is to LOOK LIKE you are going to do just that.  So go on that website and order the yoga pants in five different colors. For added style, buy the ones with the fake sweat stains on, you won’t regret it!

Tip five: Let your hair down

Life is about enjoying oneself. But we don’t all have a lifestyle that allows us to hop in a limo with our long black silk dress and pumps, and sip champagne while being driven to a private party in some Upper West penthouse, where cosmos and caviar will be served until the sun comes down on Central Park. In any case, caviar and cosmos don’t go together, the sun doesn’t come down on Central Park if you’re Upper West, and if you really want to drink champagne out of a glass in a car, you need to put a bib to protect your nice black silk gown. So forget all that nonsense! Who needs that when you can drink something out of a bottle, with a bowl of chips balanced on your stomach, while you  lie on the sofa, feet on the table, in your sweat pants. Now, that’s the life.


The only shoes you’ll ever need . . .








Too much choice kills choice

Oh yeah? No kidding. . .

Of course, choice is great. It means we live in a free country and we are the masters of our own destiny. Who doesn’t want that? From outfits to jobs, to presidents, we can pick whatever suits us best – or worst, because that too, is our choice. It’s just that sometimes, I wish there weren’t that wide an array of possibilities for one simple thing.

Take coffee, for example. A life line for most of us out there. Whenever I go to a coffee shop, I don’t want to have to decide anything, because I have not had caffeine yet, so my brain is still on standby mode. I don’t want to exercise my free will, I am not trying to make a point about freedom of choice. No, all I want is a coffee. You think that’s obvious? Well, think again:

As soon as it’s my turn at the counter, the “interrogation” begins:

“What flavor would you like?

– Er, I don’t know. Something strong.

– (Coffee lady rolling her eyes) Would you like a blend from South America? Africa,? Pure Arabica? Fine ground beans? Roasted?

– (Me, closing my eyes, realizing I need to run now but unable to move) Wh . . . Whatever is the first one you can put your hands on.

– (Another roll of the eyes . . . Geez that coffee lady acts like a teenager!) Oookaaay. what type of coffee would you like?

– Didn’t I just answer that question?” My head is starting to hurt, but coffee lady is having none of my exasperated attitude. I’m thinking she’s starting to enjoy herself. And I have a funny feeling she’s nowhere near done with me. . .

” No, you chose a flavor. . . Well, I chose one for you. I want to know what type of coffee you want: drip?  French pressed? Filtered?”

– Huh? Erm, french pressed” There! I can make an executive decision on the spot, I’m not intimidated by coffee lady, or by the fact that I have no idea what I just chose – let’s just hope it doesn’t mean the coffee is filtered through cat pee – with those French, you never know. . .

“No problem, how about the kind?

– What’s a kind?” Should I tell her that I can see her eyes rolling?

” Espresso, Americano, Capuccino, Latte, Antoccino, Breve, Machiatto . . .

– STOP!!! This is insane. I just want a coffee with milk.

– Oh, so why don’t you say so? It’s called a cafe au lait” Ironically, I, French and all, come all the way to live in America so I can fail to order a cafe au lait, because I don’t even know the name for it. By now, I want to cry. But I’m not done yet.

“What milk would you like? Skimmed? Semi skimmed? Full fat? Soy? Cream?”

– How about a cafe au lait without the milk. That’s what I’ll have.

– oookayyy. What size?

– Large, please.

– Oh, we don’t have that size. We have minute, intermezzo, or jumbo.

– I’ll have a jumbo bucket. Or I’ll drink it straight from the tap if that makes things easier” My anger is palatable.

– ooookaaayyy. Would you like any flavoring?

– Huh? Are you for real?

– (Smirk on her face) Just asking . . . Your total is $2.55. How will you be paying?

– Cash.

– You sure?

– Why?

– Because if you pay with our store card, you get twenty espresso points to redeem on your next purchase.

– All right then, I’ll pay with the card.

– Sorry, the minimum purchase for the card is $5.

– Why did you make me change then?

– Oh, I didn’t make you change. I just gave you the choice”

It’s no wonder that after a few of these experiences, I have decided that I would be much better off brewing my own coffee and avoid the trauma of having to make so many decisions. So I bought a machine and the coffee that goes with it. Oh there was a lot of choices for coffee. But I just needed to make my mind once, and then order a full truck load of it. And that’s exactly what I did.

But then,  the coffee company sent me this as a welcome present, and now I’m all confused again . . .





Going to Mommy Camp!

Summer is here, yay!! After a tough year of feeling like you’ve been on a treadmill trying to juggle homework, bedtime routine, school drop off and pick up, extra curricular activities, and let’s not forget sports, FINALLY, things are slowing down. You hear about all your friends and neighbors sending their kids to camp and you’re thinking, “Not me. Huh huh. For the next three months, there will be no obligation to be somewhere at a certain time, with a packed snack and lunch and three changes of clothes. No way. I’m just gonna chillax with the kids, laze around, take my time, and enjoy being a fun mom who plays and does cool stuff with her kids”. Isn’t it what mommy camp is all about? With that, if you don’t get your mother of the year crown, then nobody will.

All your friends tell you that’s not being fun-mom, that’s being crazy-mom. Some are subtle about it, in the form of, “I’m sure your kids would enjoy meeting new friends and be entertained all day at camp. It will give them a chance to do something different. You should really think about sending them for a bit”. Some are more direct, like, “Three months with nobody else but you to bug. For-get it. You are crazy”

Pfff, what do they know? You, on the other hand, know that this summer is gonna be great in the company of your kids. Yes, it’s gonna be great. . .

So, as week three of this great, big, fabulous summer is ending, how are things in Mommy-camp? It’s hard to describe in one word, but if forced to choose one, you’ll go with “Aaaarrrggghhhhhh”

For starters, your kids want to do nothing, so all that great planning of places to see, things to do: Woosh! Down the drain. Every time you suggest stepping out of the house, you are met with, “Moooom, it’s so boring!”

“I don’t wanna go”

“Why do we have to do anything? It’s not school, you know?”

Rarely, one of them is gonna suggest to do something, like, “Mom, can we go to the pool?”, but then for sure, the others will scream their heads off, because it’s not fair, they don’t want to go. So yeah, good luck stepping out of the house.

Mind you, who needs the outside world to survive? After all, you are creative and motivated. Surely, you can provide entertainment for your lovely children.

Yeah, sure you can! As long as entertainment involves holding something rectangular that starts with an “i”, pushing buttons and watching ridiculous videos of squirrels in army uniforms, Anything else is not entertainment, it’s just a boring game that nobody wants to play.

Remember, you are competing for mother of the year, so you cannot let your kids play electronics for twelve hours, everyday. No matter how tempting that might be. So if going out is a no-starter, staying in and interacting with one another is out of the question, then maybe you could do a little academic stuff, just so they don’t forget what they worked so hard to remember over the past nine months. . .Yeeaahh, didn’t think it would go down too well either. Now everybody’s screaming at you that you are evil and mean.

All right, let’s calm down. Take a step back and think. Maybe mommy camp is about letting the kids express themselves, giving some space to their spirit and body, letting their imagination run wild and take them wherever their mood wants to.

Okay, so the mood is grumpy, and all their imagination could think of was to pick a fight with one another. Every five minutes. For the whole day. Every single day of the past three weeks.

So in conclusion mommy camp is a rubbish, and you are crazy. At least, you’ve established that your friends were right. Now you have to rush and try to find a real camp that has any space left. At this point, you really don’t care if your boys end up knitting sweaters for chipmunks and your daughter scuba diving with the sharks. Anything will do!

Nicoll Photos 823



My Summer Resolution

I love making resolutions. Making a meaningful commitment feels so nice and refreshing. It’s like a rebirth every time. “I will not eat any more junk food”, “I will exercise four times a week”. Man! Just saying it makes me feel like I have run a marathon on a full stomach of quinoa salad.

Needless to say, I never deliver on any of them, but that’s a whole different matter. Anyway, say what you want, but at least, I try to make resolutions. And not just on the New Year. Nononono! Not me. I have spring resolutions, summer ones, good day ones, optimistic resolutions, over-optimistic ones. None are realistic, and they are usually short lived. But never mind that!

This summer, I have made my most challenging resolution of all times: I will be a morning person. Okay, are you done laughing? Let me explain why I have decided to do the impossible. In the summer, my kids are home all the time so I have to provide non stop entertainment. Needless to mention that I don’t get to do any of the stuff I have on my agenda, all very important things like… erm … you know, nothing comes to mind right now, but I assure you, it’s super major.

During the school year, I use the evening to catch up with whatever I haven’t managed to do during the day. But in the summer, forget that because  bedtime routine is totally out of the window. The hour between 9 and 10pm is usually spent arguing about why it’s time to go to bed (my side of the argument), vs why there shouldn’t be any curfew during vacation (guess who’s argument?). After I lose the battle, it’s 10.30pm and I am totally pooped, so forget doing anything.

Therefore, the only possible way to achieve anything, no matter how small the achievement might be, is to get up early. Ouch! Just typing it hurts.

So for the next twelve weeks, I will set my alarm at 5.30am. Which gives me a full two hours of uninterrupted time to be efficient and organized. I have thought this through and there is no other way. So 5.30am, BEEP! Maybe I’ll hit the snooze button once or twice, but 6am is definitely the max I’ll indulge. 6am sharp, I’ll jump out of bed. Well, not quite jump, I don’t think I have that level of energy in the morning. Let’s say I’ll crawl out of bed and down to the kitchen, where I’ll try to remember how to make coffee.

Once my first two cups have made it into my system, I think I should be able to fully open my two eyes. That’s only if I can manage to resist the call from my super comfortable sofa. Maybe I’ll just lie down for a few minutes, until the caffeine kicks in. Wo needs one and a half hour in the morning anyway, that’s just plain insane. One hour is plenty, maybe even too much. How about thirty minutes?

There are many flaws in my thinking. Complete lack of motivation is the most obvious. The second one, is that in order to be able to have a shot at getting up early, I need to go to bed earlier. So what the heck am I doing writing this blog at 1am? Oh well, I’ll sleep in tomorrow and start to be an early bird in two days … or maybe I’ll give myself a little more time to get ready. Say, twelve weeks…