Yesterday I changed my approach. Fridays are always a work-from-home day, which, loosely translated means failing-as-an-activities-director and also ill-equipped-to-accomplish-much-beyond-frantic-email-replies. I’d worked all week to cross things off my list, not so much from anticipation of a different Friday as it was a fatigue from feeling inadequate. I’d come to expect the ping of new emails and the “Amanda, line 2” announcements to be bad things; dissatisfied clients, cold-caller requesting things I cannot give. I was dodging things that never materialized, which is exhausting because when they don’t arrive you don’t stop worrying, in fact you worry more. When I’m not fretting over work I am fielding requests from the girls: Can we go swimming? Can we go bowling? I have a play date. Can…