Photo by Alyson McPhee on Unsplash I stood in the kitchen, applying pressure to my finger while holding my hand above my head. Somehow, preparing my lunch for the next day, a task I do almost every night, had gone awry. I don’t even know what happened really ... only that I started out chopping a cucumber, and somehow my finger got in the way. My eyes stung with tears, but more from frustration than pain. I was irritated that I cut my finger. Irritated that my attempts to move quickly had left me with in an injury that would certainly have the opposite effect for several days. Irritated that I had allowed my ever present and always growing To Do list - a list that could only be completed by me (or so I told myself) - to distract me from the task at hand. Still holding my finger, I glanced into the den where my husband and two sons were watching TV together. And just like that I felt my irritation grow and redirect towards my unsuspecting husband. Once again our evening routine co