How is it no matter what happens within the 48 hours I consider ‘my weekend’, I never feel like I accomplished enough.  I worked 10 hours, baked 15 dozen cookies, and put my house back in order.  I took a soul’s vacation and spent time with two of my closest friends.  I made three throw blankets to keep my student workers warm in the winter months.  I talked to Ms. Bee on the phone and had brunch with a dear, family friend.  What I wouldn’t give for a Sunday night where there isn’t a single thing that I can think of that didn’t get done, but instead I have a simple inner plea for just a few more hours.  Something tells me no matter how many more extra hours I would get, I would still need more.