My eleven year old daughter Melinda got off the bus, and I couldn’t believe what she had in her hands. Fistfulls of dollar bills. Tons of them. Turns out her hall mates were paying her to organize their lockers. And that was what she had left over after she admitted blowing most of her windfall on Tic Tacs. My daughter! Do I need a DNA test here? This is from the mother who only knows where things are by remembering the last place she stepped on them. It really must be true--some people are just born organized. Of my six kids I have about half claiming that impressive trait. Really, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Why can’t I be more like that? I too yearn for an escape from CHAOS, (can’t have anyone over syndrome) but I keep failing to make the grade. If I made the grade, I sure wouldn’t know where I put it. Each New Year I promise this will be the year I really change. I stand in the living room (next to the wadded up socks) and proclaim as the ball drops, that this year my family will have clean clothes, delicious dinners and couches free of newspapers, hairbrushes, and buried remote controls. Why can’t I achieve such a simple thing? I knew I needed help, so I called in some experts. I’ve started checking in with flylady.net and taking baby steps to my clutter addiction. One of fly lady’s goals I really liked was just to do one load of laundry a day. One load to sanity. Who knew? I love that tip! I now can see my laundry room floor , after..well…after a really long time. I also enrolled my youngest daughter with the house fairy at housefairy.org. The house fairy makes visits like the tooth fairy and boy does my eight year old buy it. She now has a magazine cover room, but mine still looks like Goodwill exploded. If you are a recovering, or not yet recovering slob, maybe these sites can help you. As for me, I think I need to have a chat with my inner brat. I met her at bratfactor.com. and boy is she stubborn. All she wants to do is play!
Of course, if none of these ideas work for you, feel free to send in your dollar. Melinda is getting low on Tic-Tacs and you will have the cleanest locker in town.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Breakin Up Is Hard To Do....
It’s time I made a final decision. I know what you’re thinking…twenty years is a long time to be together and I should really be sure I want to leave. I tried separation, and you know what? It felt great. Yes…the time has come to leave my warehouse membership for good. It all came to a head last night when those dreaded words were spoken at the checkstand. “You’re due to renew.” Gasp! Could it be true? Already? I had to face reality. Was I really getting my needs met, my freezer stocked, and fifty dollars worth of chicken on toothpicks? No. The time had come for us to part. I walked out of those guarded doors with no receipt and never looked back. Should I re-consider? Try counseling? Only time will tell. Oh there were good times to be sure. The jumbo hotdogs, the 5000 calorie muffins, the beep beep beep of a moving pallet of dog food. But, let’s face it, I did have a growing list of complaints… like why can’t we use our Visa? Why can’t we limp out behind a few muscle bound carry-out guys, and how can a place that’s big enough to park a jet plane not have dressing rooms? These were the questions that kept me up at night…made me really look inside myself…am I really having my needs met in this relationship? I can no longer deny the truth. I’ve been fantasizing about spending time with other discount stores. I’ve been sneaking out to Grocery Outlet and flirting with the Safeway meat counter markdowns. I’m afraid, eventually, the whole town will know. Yes, it’s time to leave the black conveyor belt of barn size bargains for good. I will forever cherish the years spent with the hairnet ladies… hovering over their toaster ovens and paper cups of nuts. But, I must move on to a life of bags and smaller parking lots.
Destiny and the day old bread cart is calling my name.
Destiny and the day old bread cart is calling my name.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Whatsoever You Do...
I knew I was staring, but I just couldn’t stop.
The second grade classes were lined up in the hall soon to walk on stage for the annual music program. From my hard metal chair in the darkened gym I squinted to see if my seven year old daughter was among them yet. It was 1pm and I reluctantly shed my sweats and tennis shoes, climbed into something a little more decent and headed to the school even though, as usual, I had a million other things to do. After all, she was the narrator, a very important job I’m told. I did guiltily wonder if this was a waste of time as they’d be repeating the hour long show again that evening and really how many pictures can one mother take? But I came just the same. Searching the lined up kids for my offspring, I spotted what had to be a much older child in the line. That couldn’t possibly be a second grader! She stood almost 5 feet tall and looked…how else can I say it? Pregnant. Of course that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t stop myself from openly gaping. This poor child. She was everything you wouldn’t want in an eight year old girl. Overweight and clumsy, stringy hair pulled carelessly back in a low ponytail, a raggy print dress that fell to her knees, and ugly black shoes. It was apparent she walked on the outsides of her shoes…at least the one that faced me. Her eyes were tiny non-descript slits. I couldn’t even tell what color. But that stomach. I couldn’t stop staring at that stomach. What went wrong? Could she have such a protruding stomach just from being overweight? Did she have some other kind of medical condition? What? Sitting in the darkened, cavernous gym the bright lights of the hallway surrounded her being. The line stayed put and she stubbornly stayed directly in my sight for a good fifteen minutes. There was no doubt what to do. I began praying for all Gods angels to surround this precious one and change her life. As long as that child was in my view I was going to pray for her. Once in place on the stage she stood and sang obediently with the others. So out of place. Again I prayed. “Lord please pour your blessings on this child, and any others on that stage that need my prayers.”
'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40.
I hope she felt my motherly hug across the gym.
It was the least I could do.
The second grade classes were lined up in the hall soon to walk on stage for the annual music program. From my hard metal chair in the darkened gym I squinted to see if my seven year old daughter was among them yet. It was 1pm and I reluctantly shed my sweats and tennis shoes, climbed into something a little more decent and headed to the school even though, as usual, I had a million other things to do. After all, she was the narrator, a very important job I’m told. I did guiltily wonder if this was a waste of time as they’d be repeating the hour long show again that evening and really how many pictures can one mother take? But I came just the same. Searching the lined up kids for my offspring, I spotted what had to be a much older child in the line. That couldn’t possibly be a second grader! She stood almost 5 feet tall and looked…how else can I say it? Pregnant. Of course that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t stop myself from openly gaping. This poor child. She was everything you wouldn’t want in an eight year old girl. Overweight and clumsy, stringy hair pulled carelessly back in a low ponytail, a raggy print dress that fell to her knees, and ugly black shoes. It was apparent she walked on the outsides of her shoes…at least the one that faced me. Her eyes were tiny non-descript slits. I couldn’t even tell what color. But that stomach. I couldn’t stop staring at that stomach. What went wrong? Could she have such a protruding stomach just from being overweight? Did she have some other kind of medical condition? What? Sitting in the darkened, cavernous gym the bright lights of the hallway surrounded her being. The line stayed put and she stubbornly stayed directly in my sight for a good fifteen minutes. There was no doubt what to do. I began praying for all Gods angels to surround this precious one and change her life. As long as that child was in my view I was going to pray for her. Once in place on the stage she stood and sang obediently with the others. So out of place. Again I prayed. “Lord please pour your blessings on this child, and any others on that stage that need my prayers.”
'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40.
I hope she felt my motherly hug across the gym.
It was the least I could do.
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