Faithful blog readers know that in the grades of life, I regularly earn D's and F's in Organization and Stick-to-it-tiveness (but A's in making up new words). Those near and dear to me seem to enjoy never letting me forget that sad little fact. Like the other day when I frantically announced that I needed a personal assistant to manage all of the running around and keeping track of mindless crap and my mom said, ever so lovingly, "You don't need an assistant. You need to be more organized." Thanks, mom. And when I was complaining for the umpteenth time about how messy our house is and my husband kindly informed me that I have never BEEN organized and will never BE organized, so why do I continue to berate myself? Why, readers, why? Why can I not accept the fact that I will spend ridiculous amounts of time searching for the piece of paper that was RIGHT THERE or that really important thing that I put in a very safe place? Why? Because it is a fundamental character flaw that I am desperate to change. But every time I make small amounts of headway in altering my behavior, the good 'ol laziness kicks in and I start putting things off. And promising I will do it later. And oh yeah, I should probably give myself an A in Procrastination.
Needless to say the husband is fed up. Again. He went on a rampage the other night and took everything off the counter. Wait, that's a lie. He left my vitamin organizer out in an effort to make sure I actually stick to my required regiment (I fall off that wagon a lot too). But everything else left of the sink is gone. Hid away. The current system is failing, he announces, it's time for something different. Damn him and his six sigma! Last night he came home in a flurry, did the dishes, cleaned the bathroom and was searching for signs of stray out-of-place objects like they were contaminated with Ebola. I am thankful for this, I truly am. My husband regularly pushes me out of my comfort zone and tries to break me of my failing flaws. With his help (and somewhat cruel methods of motivation) I earned a 4.0 in graduate school. He delivers tough love. And it works. Temporarily. You see, in the back of my mind I am thinking about how great the counter will look for the next week or so and then slowly, silently slip back into The Way Things Were. Because it always does. My other major character flaw? I am a pessimist, through and through. I wish I could say otherwise, as my mom would love nothing more than for me to "Think positive!" It just isn't going to happen. At the end of the day, can a person really truly change? We shall see.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
After spending the first half of my marriage as a nomadic wanderer, I developed a lust for change. And having no desire at this juncture to pack up all of our crap and move I need to settle on the simple stuff. Like rearranging the children. Paul confessed recently that he is terrified of the attic in his room because he thinks something lives up there. A fear that he developed after my husband created said monster in an effort to keep Paul away from the Lego sets that are hidden in the attic. A fear that came to the surface after several sleepless nights that resulted in a negative behavior report from school. A fear that was probably made worse by a visit to the Halloween store. Oops. No parent of the year awards for us!! The good news is, we have an extra room upstairs that waits patiently for guests who never visit (hint hint out of town readers) and we were able to move Paul into a closet-monster free environment. John, upon hearing the news of Paul's room abandonment, packed his pillow and pull-ups and moved it. He is apparently NOT afraid of the closet monster despite the fact that he cannot use the downstairs bathroom while the skeleton towel is hanging from the rack. Strange. John has now earned the title of "van who slept in every bedroom in the house". He is happy as a clam in there and it saved us the challenge of installing a closet organizer in his old room. A room which now occupies a naked bed as I contemplate possible uses for the space. Guest room? Hardly seems worth it. Workout room? We have one downstairs and I never use it. Study? Possible. Mommy does need a good place to hide now and then.