The conversation that prompted my Monday morning actually happened Sunday afternoon. It went like this:
MOTH, "Hey, did you renew my plates?"
MOTH, "My license plates are expired. Steve followed me home from the birthday party and pulled up behind me to ask me if I knew . . . they're expired."
Me, "I don't know . . . I'm sure if I got the postcard, I would have sent it."
MOTH, "They're expired."
Me, "Well, HOW expired? There's a grace period . . . Can we talk about this when I get home so I don't crash on the way?"
MOTH, "August. They're way expired."
Me, "Oh, Shit."
Did y'all know there's no online lookup or verification system? That's kinda stinky when you're trying to fix something on Sunday night.
Monday morning dawns. MOTH is stomping about in the morning fog. Apparently, he hit his head on something in the closet, coulding find his black shirt, is worried about the damn license plates, thinks the furnace is broken because it's flashing some code that means we have a dirty light. (Sounds, kinky, but feels serious.) He's got a snuffly nose, prepping for a long day and thinks my car needs two new snow tires. Amazing the information that comes forth when one pushy wife corners one grouchy husband in the closet and hollers, "Spill it, damnit, I can't help you if you fail to communicate and give direction. Use your words!"
Husband and 75% of children out the door at 7:50 meant I could settle in and get some things done.
By 8:30, I had . . . .
* left a message with the motor vehicle division
* scheduled a well-furnace visit for the 30th at 8 am
* prepped a bank deposit
* started a pile for errands today
* called some lady about a t-shirt that needs to be delivered to school
* gotten two estimates on tires for my car (He's right. Though it pains me to slap tires on a lease with only 6 months to go til new-car-ville is mine all mine, those tread-bare fronts won't make it over the pass for ski season. No way. Costco wins, incidentally. For price AND the friendly tire tech on the other end of the line.)
* called Jane . . . I'm coming by for the money you owe me
* called Wanda . . . I'm dropping this paperwork off on your doorstep
* phone calls for open house -- done -- left a bunch of messages, but, done for now
By 9:00, I had . . .
* heard back from motor vehicles. One word: whoops. Another word: wow, that's one hell of a late charge. And finally: I'll be there within an hour.
* fed Mimi
* fed myself
* dressed Mimi
* dressed myself
* topped off my stack of to-do errands . . . .
* heard back from one open house person . . . happy
By 10 . . .
* school the t-shirt fiasco -- done
* Wanda - done
* Jane - done
* DMV - waiting, waiting, waiting . . . being really thankful for lollipops stuffed in my trendy personalized bag, because of this equation:
DMV + MIMI + LINE OF ANGRY CUSTOMERS = NOT REALLY THAT FUN
(I think my clerk actually laughed at me. She said, "What happened? Did you not get a postcard?"
I said, "I don't know . . . I screwed up."
She said, "You're not gonna argue with me over late fees and try to wiggle out of paying this?"
I said, "Would it help?"
She said, "No."
And we both kinda chuckled. I offered her a lollipop.
By 11 . . . .
* bank - done
* ups store - done
* photocopies - done
* expressed shipped something important - done
* mailed a letter to Switzerland (poor Big's been hounding me for a week!!) - done (be watching, Swiss Miss)
* and a quick zip over to the grocery store . . .
* home with a list of almost all scratch-offs, a tired Mimi, and a plan for dinners, not just for tonight, but the rest of the week. Next, I'll pop over to ask.com and put this "How long should I bake a turkey leg?"
Whoop whoop. Feeling pretty damn accomplished. That was a full weeks' work done in 4 1/2 hours. Go me.