Saturday, August 1

I always keep the instruction manual until I’m completely sure I know how something works. Then I throw it away. That usually gives the appliance about three days to develop a problem nobody has ever heard of. I think appliances can see the recycling bin.

Sunday, August 2

Whenever I drop an ice cube on the kitchen floor, I kick it under the refrigerator. I know I could pick it up, but technically it’s just water trying to get somewhere. I don’t want to interfere with nature.

Monday, August 3

Every junk drawer has at least one key nobody recognizes. You can't throw it away because it might open something important. So you keep it for twenty years, which means whatever it opens is important enough to protect but not important enough to find.

Tuesday, August 4

Nobody can make spaghetti for two people. You either make enough for one disappointed person or enough to feed everybody who helped build the house. There is no middle setting. The box says eight servings, but the box has clearly never made spaghetti.

Wednesday, August 5

I don't understand why we knock on a bathroom door when it's closed. If somebody says “occupied,” we already knew what the possibilities were. I think knocking is just our way of saying, “I know you're in there, and now I'd like you to know that I know.”

Thursday, August 6

Sometimes I put something somewhere so I’ll remember where it is. That is usually the last time I ever see it. I think “somewhere safe” may be an actual place, and my house has several entrances to it.

Friday, August 7

I don't trust recipes that say they take twenty minutes. Maybe twenty minutes if a second person has already chopped everything and placed it in tiny glass bowls like a cooking show. If I have to find the garlic, we're already behind schedule.

Saturday, August 8

Whenever somebody says, “Make yourself at home,” I know they don't really mean it. At home I would take my shoes off, look in the refrigerator three times, and eventually fall asleep somewhere. Nobody has ever seemed pleased when I begin doing this at their house.

Sunday, August 9

I think alarm clocks should get quieter every time you hit snooze. Eventually they would just whisper, “You know what you're doing.” I feel like that would be more respectful.

Monday, August 10

When an elevator is taking too long, somebody always presses the button again. Sometimes harder. I don't know why we think the elevator understands urgency through finger pressure. But if it ever starts coming faster, that person is going to become unbearable.

Tuesday, August 11

I can't throw away a really good cardboard box. I don't need it. But it’s a good box. Someday I may need to mail something exactly that size, and I refuse to let future me say I had my chance.

Wednesday, August 12

I open the refrigerator, see there’s nothing I want, close it, and then open it again five minutes later. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Maybe a sandwich needed privacy to appear.

Thursday, August 13

Every bedroom eventually gets a chair that isn't allowed to be a chair anymore. It holds clothes that aren't clean enough for the closet but aren't dirty enough for the hamper. I don't know what that category is called. It's called chair.

Friday, August 14

I like cleaning the kitchen because for a few minutes it looks like nobody lives there. Then somebody makes toast and there are crumbs everywhere. Toast is basically the kitchen reminding you not to get cocky.

Saturday, August 15

The second I get comfortable on the couch, I remember something I need from another room. I think my brain knows before I sit down but waits because it enjoys making me choose. Sometimes I refuse to get up just so it understands this relationship goes both ways.

Sunday, August 16

Furniture instructions always have one step where the drawing suddenly assumes you understand engineering. Steps one through six are “insert screw A.” Step seven is a picture of the entire finished dresser with a cheerful little arrow. That's not an instruction. That's a threat.

Monday, August 17

There is no dignified way to push a door that says PULL. Once it doesn't open, you should be allowed to leave. Instead you have to stand there, read the door's criticism of you, and then obey it.

Tuesday, August 18

When somebody says, “Quick question,” I think there should be a legally required estimate attached. “Quick question, approximately forty-five minutes.” Then I could make arrangements.

Wednesday, August 19

Group texts are strange because eventually two people start having a conversation that has nothing to do with everyone else. The rest of us just stay there receiving it. It's like two people came into your living room to discuss dinner while twenty people quietly sat on the couch.

Thursday, August 20

Food tastes different when you've specifically bought it for later. The minute you tell yourself, “I'm saving this for tomorrow,” it becomes the only thing in the house you want to eat. Tomorrow has lost a lot of snacks this way.

Friday, August 21

Every house has a light switch that doesn’t seem to do anything. We still leave it there because removing it feels dangerous. Maybe it turns on a light in somebody else’s house. I like to flip ours occasionally so they know we’re thinking about them.

Saturday, August 22

I think parking lots wait until you finally give up and park far away before releasing all the good spaces. It's probably some kind of reward system, except the reward goes to the person behind you. Parking lots may not fully understand rewards.

Sunday, August 23

A phone at two percent battery becomes the most important object you own. Suddenly you're lowering the brightness, turning off Bluetooth, and closing apps like you're rationing oxygen on a submarine. At sixty percent I leave the same phone under a couch cushion for three hours. Concern has a percentage.

Monday, August 24

Everybody has a special voice they use when talking to a dog. Nobody teaches us this voice. We just see a dog and immediately start talking like we've been hired to entertain a baby king. The dog seems fine with the arrangement.

Tuesday, August 25

If a shopping cart has one bad wheel, I always keep using it. I could exchange it, but after the second aisle we've been through something together. Abandoning it near produce would feel wrong. So now we're both going to frozen foods sideways.

Wednesday, August 26

Somebody has designated today National Dog Day. Good thing they reminded us, because otherwise dogs might have gone an entire day without attention, snacks, photos, praise, or being told they are a good boy seventeen times before lunch. Crisis avoided.

Thursday, August 27

I can go into a store needing one thing and still come out with seven things because I kept saying, “While I'm here.” “While I'm here” may be the most expensive phrase in the English language. Nobody has ever said it immediately before saving money.

Friday, August 28

I usually stop the microwave with one second left so it doesn't beep. I don't know who I'm protecting from the beep. Everyone in the house already knows I'm making nachos. Maybe I just don't want the microwave taking credit.

Saturday, August 29

The first pancake is always terrible, and we've all quietly agreed this is acceptable. Nobody says the first hamburger can be weird because the grill is warming up. Pancakes somehow negotiated themselves a practice round.

Sunday, August 30

Making the bed is strange because you're carefully arranging something you're planning to destroy later. Then you put decorative pillows on top that aren't even allowed to participate. I think the pillows know. That's why they always look so smug.

Monday, August 31

People say the dryer eats socks, but nobody has ever found the bones. So either the dryer is extremely thorough or the socks are leaving voluntarily. I hope mine are somewhere warm. They hated winter.

Tuesday, September 1

September is strange because summer isn't really over, but everybody has decided it is. It's still hot enough to sweat walking to the mailbox, but there are pumpkins in the grocery store. Seasons can begin through merchandise.

Wednesday, September 2

School supply lists always ask for something incredibly specific, like a yellow plastic folder with three pockets and no fasteners. You'll find yellow folders. You'll find three-pocket folders. You'll find one with no fasteners. The exact folder exists only to prove how much you love your child.

Thursday, September 3

I think backpacks get heavier by themselves. On the first day of school there's a notebook and two pencils in there. Three weeks later the kid is carrying seventeen pounds of paper, a water bottle, half a granola bar, and a rock nobody remembers packing. The rock seems important.

Friday, September 4

The first week back at school generates more emails than some small businesses. Half of them contain forms, links, calendars, passwords, or instructions for another website. I think eventually each child will just be issued an administrative assistant.

Saturday, September 5

The last really hot weekend of summer always makes everybody feel obligated to do something outside. You can't just sit in the air conditioning because sunshine has an expiration date. So we go outside and complain about the heat together.

Sunday, September 6

The night before a day off feels longer than the actual day off. You go to bed thinking tomorrow is completely yours. Then tomorrow arrives, you eat something, look at your phone, and somehow it's 6:40. Days off should come with a warning before they start leaving.

Monday, September 7

Happy Labor Day. Hope you get a chance to relax, enjoy the day, and do as little actual labor as possible. Seems fair.

Tuesday, September 8

Happy Star Trek Day. A television show about humanity becoming more enlightened has somehow led to decades of adults arguing about captains. Progress takes many forms.

Wednesday, September 9

Packed lunches are mostly predictions about what another person might want to eat five hours from now. You put in a sandwich, fruit, something crunchy, and a little treat. Then the lunchbox comes home containing everything except the treat. Children also understand priorities.

Thursday, September 10

Kids have an incredible ability to remember at bedtime that they need something for school tomorrow. Never at 4:00. Never while the stores are convenient. It's always, “I need poster board in the morning.” I think poster board can only be remembered after pajamas.

Friday, September 11

Today we remember those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001, and honor the courage, service, and sacrifice of those who responded. We remember their families and everyone whose life was forever changed that day.

Saturday, September 12

Shanah Tovah to everyone celebrating Rosh Hashanah. Wishing you and your family a sweet and happy new year.

Sunday, September 13

Football season is when people who haven't run anywhere since spring start criticizing professional athletes for not running correctly. From the couch, the correct play is usually obvious. Distance provides expertise.

Monday, September 14

I like when the weather drops three degrees and somebody immediately puts on a hoodie. It can still be 78 degrees outside. Doesn't matter. They've waited all summer for this hoodie and they're not letting temperature interfere anymore.

Tuesday, September 15

Today marks the beginning of Hispanic Heritage Month. From September 15 through October 15, we celebrate the histories, cultures, and contributions of Hispanic and Latino Americans.

Wednesday, September 16

There is always one tree that starts changing color before all the others. I don't know if it's confused or just competitive. Maybe trees have that one neighbor who puts the Christmas decorations up before Thanksgiving too.

Thursday, September 17

Fantasy football is an impressive system where you select real people you've never met and then become personally disappointed in them for not helping your imaginary organization. This is considered a hobby. The imaginary organization has very demanding shareholders.

Friday, September 18

It’s National Cheeseburger Day. Meanwhile, hamburgers get nothing. Same bun. Same burger. Skip one slice of cheese and you’re no longer worthy of national recognition. Big Cheese clearly has people in Washington.

Saturday, September 19

Three things are happening today, all at once: Batman Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day, and the start of the Mothman Festival. So if you see a masked man saying “arr” while chasing a winged creature through West Virginia, please don’t interfere. The calendar has this handled.

Sunday, September 20

Every year there is one morning when you walk outside and can suddenly smell fall. Nobody can really explain what fall smells like. Leaves? Cold dirt? Somebody's fireplace six miles away? Whatever it is, our noses have calendars.

Monday, September 21

To everyone observing Yom Kippur, wishing you a peaceful day of reflection.

Tuesday, September 22

The first day of fall doesn't necessarily mean fall weather. Sometimes it's still 82 degrees and you're drinking something pumpkin flavored while the air conditioner runs. Autumn is willing to begin without the cooperation of nature.

Wednesday, September 23

Pumpkin spice is interesting because nobody seems especially interested in pumpkin the rest of the year. Nobody orders pumpkin coffee in June. Pumpkin spends nine months backstage waiting for its tour.

Thursday, September 24

I don't know why we buy decorative gourds. They don't do anything. You put several on a table and suddenly the house understands it's fall. Maybe vegetables have been decorations this whole time and we've been wasting them on soup.

Friday, September 25

Leaves are beautiful until they land in your yard. On the tree they're autumn scenery. On the grass they're work. It's impressive that something can fall six feet and completely change careers.