I have put up decorations, wrapped presents, and made Christmas cookies so far today. Mom walked into the kitchen and started rating every cookie in the pile to let me know which ones were "too done."

Keeping it 65° at night and 75° during the day in your house has got to be some kind of disorder, right?

Think I'm gonna start counting how many complaints get logged into the Eldest Daughter Dump Zone before I've even had coffee every morning--that'll keep me sane, right?

Oof.

You ever feel like nobody would even notice you were gone until the dishes didn't get done?

I feel like Cinderella. Loved only for what I can do for others, but nobody even listens when I speak.

"I don't want to criticize ~the chef~, but your gravy is thin and flavorless."

Every day, as the clock strikes 5pm, a soft wail cracks against the distant setting sun. Was that a ghost? "I'm so hungry," the cry continues, "you haven't started cooking yet?!" The image focuses on our imperiled victim--nay, not a ghost. A very much alive 65 year old woman.