I berated myself for not sticking with my resolution to lose my expat fat. My closets are loaded with clothes I cannot wear. Bad, bad, bad Grrrl!

I reminded myself that I’ve exercised every day this week, and now that the kids are back in school, it’s much easier to avoid junk food and mindless eating.

I celebrated finishing my postcard scrapbook and relished the idea of doing an artsy scrapbook that focuses on words, not photos.

I drank three cups of chai.

I put away all the clean laundry and carried all the dirty laundry to the basement to be sorted. I washed two loads. It’s sad that I consider this a major accomplishment.

I packed my sandals back up in boxes, convinced it will not be warm enough to wear them again until next May because I turned on the heat two weeks ago. I’m OK with that.

I threw away my oldest pair of moccasins, two pair of slippers, and my kids’ outgrown shoes. I gave up on the navy sandals and put them in the giveaway pile. I noticed that my black walking boots are reaching the point where a coat of polish doesn’t help enough, but still, I can’t let them go.

I wondered what happened to my son’s navy sweatshirt.

I wondered how my daughter ended up with so many t-shirts.

I tried to guess what might still fit the kids next summer and what I ought to just get rid of now. That’s harder to do than it sounds.

I didn’t practice yoga. I should have.

I thought about my massage therapist, who is coming back to Brussels next week after spending three months in South Africa. My back has missed her.

I thought about my son’s upcoming birthday and made a list of everything I need to do before the weekend.

I haven’t done anything on the list yet.

I resolved to look for my kids’ lost reading glasses. I think they’re somewhere in the house. I hope I’m right. If not, cha-ching, cha-ching. $500.

I endured the excruciating process of supervising my son’s homework, a process fraught with tension, drama, and frustration for all parties. His weakest link? Writing. Yes, you heard that right. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, the writer’s child can’t write. God has a sense of humor.

My son told me he was all out of erasable pens. I put three in his backpack on Monday, each one LABELED with his name. Three pens gone in four days. Sigh.

I didn’t say, “The next pack of pens is on you, bud.” But I thought that.

I made meatloaf, one of his favorite meals, for dinner. I know he’s having a hard time transitioning to school.

For the second night in a row, he had a meltdown before bed because we won’t get him a guinea pig. He keeps saying “It’s not fair.” Oh no, it isn’t. All we hear about is what he DOESN’T get as pets. Never mind the lizard, tadpoles, frogs, bugs, grasshoppers, hamsters, fish, cat, and dog. Sigh.

I watched Gilmore Girls after the kids went to sleep. I love Emily Gilmore--she's a bitch with a heart of gold.

And tomorrow, I celebrate the start of the weekend and the start of my favorite month.

Life may be boring but you know, it’s good.