Sunday mornings, in my world, should be synonymous with relaxation. However, my recent resolution to stay up past my usual bedtime of 8 pm (or let's be honest, sometimes 5:30 pm) has been throwing a wrench in my plans. I mean, I can't be tucking myself in three hours earlier than our 10-year-old, right? At

Saturday mornings are for sleeping in, right? Wrong. In my world, they've become an Olympic sport of self-love routines, starting at the ungodly hour of 4:45 am. This particular Saturday, I was determined to break the pattern and get some extra z's. But as fate would have it, my black lab, Olive, had a different