Not so much.
We left off last week with our car at the dealership, waiting to find out if they could even get us in Monday and how bad the "immanent engine failure" was. (That sounds ridiculous). We borrowed an '89 suburban--known to friends and family as "the beast", "the battletank", "the millennium falcon", etc--from my parents to drive in the meantime.
This morning, the tank, which has never failed to start in all the years my family has owned it, growled, blinked impertinently at Matt, and shut off immediately every time he tried to turn it on.
First lesson of the week: vehicles don't like us.
While Matt was fighting with the Falcon, I was optimistically taking advantage of Little Bear's waking us up a half hour early to run 'round the house gathering up laundry and bundling the bedding into the washing machine.
I was so proud to have the main chore for the day already underway... until halfway through the spin cycle, when Little Bear blew out his diaper all over his clothes, his chair, the white blanket my great-grandmother made when I was a baby, etc.
Started another load of laundry. It was a bit sparse, so I ran 'round the house again hunting up things that could possibly bear washing, and finally found enough for a load. Five minutes later, Little Bear threw up all over me, himself, the quilt his grandmother made, etc.
Second lesson of the week: procrastination leads to fewer loads of laundry.
(That's clearly what I'm supposed to extrapolate here, right?)