Tuesday, February 27, 2007

40 THINGS

Homestead strikes again. Apparently, she's taking this week's organizational mission off . . . but, needs a list of 40 things that need to get done . . so she can do them . . and therefore be successful in Lent endeavors. I'm playing along . . heck, who doesnt' have 40 (million-jillion-pickle-dickle-dillion) things to do?

1. Find the bolt that fell out of the spinny-ma-jigger in the dishwasher.
2. Once located, fix the spinny-ma-jigger.
3. Wash the dishes in the newly fixed dishwasher.
4. Finish installing Middle's ceiling fan.
5. Finish staining the trim on the laundry room doors.
6. Deliver those last 3 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies.
7. Balance the GS Cookie monies.
8. Turn the money in.
9. Balance the checkbook.
10. Balance the the work checkbook.
11. File audits x 30 . . . . (nice how I only made that no. 11, eh?)
12. Take the glass recyling in
13. Take the cardboard recycling in.
14. Paint that wall I've been meaning to paint.
15. Dog poop. Pick up dog poop.
16. Repeat number 15.
17. Tilex the shower.
18. Find all the racecars with no faces.
19. Put faceless racecars in a box.
20. Post it as a lot on ebay.
21. Call the pick up dry cleaning place.
22. Scrapbook: Holy Catfish. That could take up to 40 .
23. Scrapbook: Catch them up (see, I only took 2 spaces up)
24. Update phone software.
25. Run virus scan on the computers
26. Filing . . . get the stack on the left side done.
27. Buy an ailine ticket.
28. Call the Sears repair dude.
29. Schedule him to come balance the washer.
30. Send birthday card to father.
31. Organize a really awesome moving gift for mother.
32. Return call about violin lessons.
33. Sort out the huge vat of game pieces I've been collecting from all around the house.
34. Return shoes to the mall.
35. Fill the humidifier.
36. Drop off that giant box at goodwill.
37. Organize the workout stuff in the basement.
38. Pick up the play-doh from last week.
39. Finish stashing Valentine's Candy from parties at school (yes, I WILL stash some of it in my mouth)
40. Post a blog.

Ha! Only took me 12 minutes, too . . .

The Fart Jar

Homestead just made a promise that I simply can't keep. She promised the readers of HER blog that if they visited MY blog, I'd tell them the story of the Fart Jars -- and they would not be disappointed.

Sadly, the story cannot be retold without
a. props
b. alcohol

So . . . .next time in Homestead's state . . . we'll have a little get together.

Pick your battles & Win the ones you pick

. . . with the kids, especially, don't you think?

Don't you have those things that you'd like to fight, but don't.

It's that theory of saving the things you're gonna gripe at your kids about for the biggies, and letting some of the little things slide. 'Cause if you're constantly yipping at them about the little things, they don't listen when serious stuff crops up.

Like:
Flip-flops in a snowstorm (for someone out there). Opening half the pack of band-aids before finding the right one. A second bowl of popcorn . . most of it in the cushions of the couch. Kudos bar with M&M's for breakfast. The whole idea of a breakfast COOKIE! The search for just the right pen . . . long minutes of situating jackets before the buckle clicks . . even though we are obviously in a huge hurry. Shoes . . jeepers . . shoes . . . does anyone out there have difficulty with shoes? Or socks . . Big has a thing about the seams in her socks. Little loves racecars . . . but they have to have faces. Any racecar without a face, he throws out of his room and into the hallway. They are not invited. Middle . . . whoa, middle is my test from The Lord, and daily helps me differentiate the biggies from the sliders.

Ok, so . . . I'll patiently put faceless racecars back in the bucket. I'll patiently adjust sock seams. I'll breathe deeply and remember the last line of the previous paragraph.

Anyhoo . . . someone out there put a snippit of THAT in their THING this week . . . And it reminded me of my personal plan . . . . to let some small things slide . . not constantly pole vault over mouse shit. And, there you have it . .. my plan for today . . . .

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Snippits

Did anybody notice that this week's organizational mission was missing? That's because this week, it was all I could do to get 160 boxes of girl scout cookies out of my living room. Homestead took the week off to eat the boxes that I pressured her into buying. Jinkies, who can keep their Shortbreads straight from the Lemonades?

This week, Middle crowned herself "Peanut Butter Cup Girl." She's a superhero in her own world. Pictures to follow later. She's working on her costume. MOTH was supervising her (well, kinda) in the bathtub this week. In my mind, long minutes must have passed, because by the time she said, "Look what I made" and he turned to see it, she had emptied an entire family size box (that's what, 210 tissues) . . into the tub, dunked them, and made a pile on the sideboard that she dubbed her "jellyfish head."

This week, Big has two wiggly teeth that are swaying in the wind with her breath. She's also got the coughy-coughy, hacky-hacky, wow-there-are-alot-of-boogers-in-here blues.

Little has the same, but add the coughy-wheezy-sometimes-out-of-breathies. I always know he's in over his head when he falls down asking to "do a dinosaur" -- that's the nebulizer meds. He's a superhero, too . . you know, the bipolar pretender has retuned, this time in the form of Captain Underpants. See last week's picuture . . . he wore under-roos on his head to Walgreens this week. And you know, not that many people even stopped to stare. Nobody laughed or pointed.

Friday, I waited for 1 hr and 46 minutes for the pharmacy to mix pink powder and distilled water and hand it to me. I say no more.

And this week, work, work, work, work . . . I've pushed papers across my desk and back. Then made a new stack. I've faxed and copied and filed. The bad news is, I haven't opened the mail yet. Big, giant bummer.

Suddenly, I feel the need to make a list.

Snippits

Did anybody notice that this week's organizational mission was missing? That's because this week, it was all I could do to get 160 boxes of girl scout cookies out of my living room. Homestead took the week off to eat the boxes that I pressured her into buying. Jinkies, who can keep their Shortbreads straight from the Lemonades?

This week, Middle crowned herself "Peanut Butter Cup Girl." She's a superhero in her own world. Pictures to follow later. She's working on her costume. MOTH was supervising her (well, kinda) in the bathtub this week. In my mind, long minutes must have passed, because by the time she said, "Look what I made" and he turned to see it, she had emptied an entire family size box (that's what, 210 tissues) . . into the tub, dunked them, and made a pile on the sideboard that she dubbed her "jellyfish head."

This week, Big has two wiggly teeth that are swaying in the wind with her breath. She's also got the coughy-coughy, hacky-hacky, wow-there-are-alot-of-boogers-in-here blues.

Little has the same, but add the coughy-wheezy-sometimes-out-of-breathies. I always know he's in over his head when he falls down asking to "do a dinosaur" -- that's the nebulizer meds. He's a superhero, too . . you know, the bipolar pretender has retuned, this time in the form of Captain Underpants. See last week's picuture . . . he wore under-roos on his head to Walgreens this week. And you know, not that many people even stopped to stare. Nobody laughed or pointed.

Friday, I waited for 1 hr and 46 minutes for the pharmacy to mix pink powder and distilled water and hand it to me. I say no more.

And this week, work, work, work, work . . . I've pushed papers across my desk and back. Then made a new stack. I've faxed and copied and filed. The bad news is, I haven't opened the mail yet. Big, giant bummer.

Suddenly, I feel the need to make a list.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

I'm practicing this line, "no"

Listen, gang, I don't have time . . . .

Funny, that I find a few minutes at the keyboard to pound out some words. It's like cleaning house for my brain. Have to purge all the thoughts so I can concentrate on what's left.

Anyhoo, I don't have time. So, I'm practicing this line, "no."

"No, I can't organize the Valentine's Day party."
"No, I can't be the chairperson of that committee."
"No, I can't help with the brownie troop on that afternoon."
"No, I can't have lunch today."
"No, I can't drop by for a visit."
"No, I can't."

I simply do not have time. Selfish? Maybe. Maybe. But the truth is, I don't have an administrative assistant that can whip up all the cover letters and zip off all the faxes. I don't have an accountant to enter payroll and track hours and calls. I don't have a nanny who can tranport kids, cook, clean and entertain.

So, here it is. I'm gonna say no. My saying no will only allow someone else, someone equally capable and eager the opportunity to step forward and participate.

Whew. Look out below. . . I'm coming down off of this soap box.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

The Art of Coffee

I like . . .

A sugar-free, non-fat, no-whip, cinnamon dulce latte . . . .

I don't fill all the boxes on the side of the cup, but I know people, and yes, I go with them and listen to their order -- whose sole purpose and daily satisfaction rests in filling all the boxes . . . .

Point is . . . this ain't yo mamma's coffee no mo . . . . eh?

It's not as simple as dumping a splash of milk in a cup of Joe in the morning and calling it good . . . And nobody can really get it right . . . It's like an itch that nobody else can quite scratch to your personal satisfaction. Even a good effort from MOTH usually means it's a tad too sweet . . . or too close to the brim . . . .

And, the part I marvel at . . . is that I'm not a picky person. In most areas of my LIFE . . . anything goes, fly by the seat of the pants, water off a duck's back . . but coffee. I'm serious about good coffee.

Does anyone own the Starbucks Barista machine? Feedback, anyone?

Monday, February 12, 2007

It was really that bad.

This weekend was a company orientation. This weekend was the first off-site orienation we have done. This weekend started out in the crapper. When we arrived at orientation, the banquet room was not set to specifications. And it had no wireless access (ya'll know this is pivotal) . . and our sales contact was unavailable, and the banquet coordinator was not in-house, and the AV representative was not available. And so, we kicked off our heels and moved tables, and pushed podiums and set up screens. Finally, our new staff arrived -- their first vision of us -- a room full of workmen scratching the heads (and other parts), cables strung across the room and me in mid-tyrade with some representative from sales. And then . . . . . there was the meeting with her boss, and then the conversation with the banquet boss, and the conversation with the manager on duty -- and the reservation with the general manager . . . and then . . . . . OH, I almost forgot the mice!! Jinkies, ya'll. I'm still coming down from the whole experience.

Sunday, I tried not to work, but just couldn't. Too much junk hanging over my head. I did, however, take a break long enough to attempt to pick up dog poop out of the back yard. And, to take down the Christmas lights. (For anybody wondering . . yes, it is very difficult to live a life this glamorous!!) Lights down before Valentine's day -- This is a day to go down in the annals of time.

MOTH ranted and cussed about the quantity of crap. You know we've been pretty much burried in snow (espcially in MY back yard) for over a month now. Really, two dogs, one month . . that's at least 60 piles . . . so even IF (and I can't) IF I could scoop at a pile a minute, that's a good hour's worth of work. Sad to admit that some need chipping out of ice blocks, and some are in un-pick-up-able state. Hmm. Grrr. Hiss.

This week's task is to stay on top of all the canine crap, before (as MOTH's rant continued) . . it leeches into the soil, seeps into the basement sump, dries, and airborn particles of previous poop infect us all. We'll have to call the Centers for Disese Control and it will be a long and horrid experience. See, my efforts to help . . . I practically have the pooper scooper in hand.

Oh, Man . . . IT"S SNOWING AGAIN!!

Monday, February 05, 2007

The task this week:

Big is home sick with the hacking, coughing, stuffed, snuffley, gurgley, boogery, low-grade fevers. SO . . . .

This begs the questions: How much tylenol do I have? How much motrin? Do I have immodium? How about sore throat strips, cough medicine, for day AND night . . . and Mucinex . . must have Mucinex.

This week I'm organizing the cold medicine cache. Anybody playing?

Sunday, February 04, 2007

This Week

Hmm . . . How did it get to be the next week already? I can't remember much of last week . . . sort of a blur . . . Little went to school with no tears . . . I left cryin', but that's the breaks when you're the mommy, eh? Middle learned to blow a bubble and has had daily lessons in the care and keeping of bubble gum . . . . as in . . . what to do with it when you're done . . . appropriate storage and not to shove 9 pieces in your mouth at once. Big has a tooth hanging by a thread . . . and I've been amused at her ongoing efforts to get it out . . . she's had it sunk into an apple, popcorn, wiggling it, wiggling it, wiggling it . . . then tied some mint dental floss to it . . . enlisted the help of a neighbor (older, of course) for assistance in tooth extraction. She ended up frustrated and holding a bloody papertowel, with tooth intact. MOTH has been gone most of the week -- working, working, working. I've been absorbed and barely keeping my head above water with work, prepping the new orientation class that is coming this weekend . . . paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. We've landed two new contracts and are pushing licensure papers back and forth . . . . Means I might be taking a business trip to Illinois . . . . (I can hear some of you cheering . . .and some sighing!!) I have a lovely picture from this week -- my darling children all running about with underwear on their head . . . that coming later . . . must . . . get . . . . going . . . on . . . dinner . . . . and FEED THE ANGRY BUTTERFLIES that are swarming me!!

The Car

Homestead picked the car for organizational overhaul this week. Check her out for details on what she has. I say, fortunate for that organizational endeavor . . (and me . . . ) that it's been sub-zero here.

Translate that into ME running the elementary school pickup . . . .which translates into ME sitting in the pickup line for 20 plus minutes every afternoon . . . .

WHICH . .

. . . is plenty of time to sort the console, make a trash bag and swab the dashboard off with butt-wipes.