It seems harder and harder to etch out any "me" time these days. I like to joke that I wake up on Monday, have lunch on Wednesday, and before I know it, dinnertime arrives on Friday. When I look back on all I've accomplished during the week, sometimes I wonder if I did anything of value at all other than run errands, show up for appointments, and manage the day-to-day hustle we all encounter.

Women of the 1950s spent 57 hours a week keeping house, according to an article in Good Housekeeping magazine. (That's eight hours a day, folks!) No wonder I bemoan lingering dust on the living room ceiling light, missed spill spots on my kitchen floor, and cobwebs behind the downstairs toilet. Who has eight hours a day—every day—to devote to cleaning? And, if I amend any of those dirty issues, four more crop up in their place. (Always inevitable: death, taxes, and dust bunnies.)