Organized Chaos

Despite the fact that it was colder than the Abominable Snowman's snowballs the kids went back to school this week. It's so quiet without the pitter-patter of smelly feet. For the first time I wasn't shoving the boys out the door the second break was over... maybe it's because they're older and it's just plain EASIER now. Maybe it's because I drink more.* Who knows? Honestly, though, I wouldn't have minded another purpose free day with the kids. Flake might have killed me, but I wouldn't have minded doing nothing with the boys. The problem with doing nothing, though (and trust me... this break we did a WHOLE stinking lot of absolutely nothing)- at least for me- is that it's really easy to go from "I'll just watch a little bit of the "Today Show" while I finish my coffee, then we'll get laundry going and be productive!" to "Sweet! Another six-hour marathon of Barney Miller!"

Truth: I love Barney Miller. And Magnum PI. I wish I really could find a six hour marathon. Sometimes, for no reason, I'll break into the Magnum PI theme song. Sometimes I even do it in public. I want a Detroit Tigers baseball cap to wear with my fake mustache. 

As Queen of Distraction (see my tiara?) I know the only way I'm going to get crap done is by making lists and then actually looking at the lists and doing what's on them. I'm big into lists, especially lists I can make on lined paper with good pens. Purple ink preferably. I looooooove making lists. Even my lists have lists. No, really:

From this summer. I told you so. 

Anyway, a couple of days ago I got on Pinterest in search of a biscuit recipe. Five hours later I'd downloaded 37 forms from Life Your Way to organize my life and my lists into one convenient binder. I love it. See, I'm also somewhat addicted to organizational items and concepts, most of which I never end up using... oh, but I love me some Office Depot and Staples and Office Max. I love the smell of Franklin Covey in the morning. I've been pretty much forbidden to ever purchase another planner- EVER... but I figured printing all of this stuff out was fair game, right? And it's pretty bad ass. It's like my lists got all juiced up by Jose Canseco, but with less chest pounding and morally repugnant behavior.** I've got personal information forms, places for insurance papers, pet shot records, weekly menus, and utility records. You could pretty much take over my life if you got your hands on this bad boy. (But please don't. I like my life. Except for toilets. I live in a house with three guys... you can TOTALLY take over cleaning toilets. There are four bathrooms in my house and NO ONE WILL JUST LET ME HAVE ONE TO MYSELF.)

Let me amend that... you could take over my life (toilets only, please)... AFTER I actually get it filled out. Because right now all you'd have are a bunch of neatly organized blank forms and a lovely list of our family's "Go-To Meals" (Hint: We like tacos) (Truth: Yes, I have 'sauteed zucchini and summer squash" listed... but I wouldn't advise it unless I'm the only person eating. Look, no Mom, Pirate or otherwise, wants a printed meal list that essentially says "Screw you vegetables!") Eventually, though... eventually my binder WILL be chock-full of informational goodness.

Later. Today I am getting a facial from my friend Mary Kay Heather. Dewy skin trumps bathroom cleaning lists. You know how I feel about the toilets.



*- Stop trying to send me to rehab, people. I don't really drink that much. Unless you're sending me to Promises Malibu or Crossroads in Antigua ***

**- I do not advocate the use of steroids, even for binders. 

***- I was not making fun of rehab or those with legitimate problems. But I wouldn't mind a trip to either Malibu or the islands, frankly. 


In all seriousness, a family binder or it's ilk isn't a bad thing to have. In the aftermath of the May 20th tornado, one of the things that struck me as I tried to help my friends was how MUCH there is to do... and how much they had to REMEMBER in able to do it. It was hell. Having your documents, utility information, even car insurance, VIN numbers, etc in one place- and then duplicated and stored securely in a secondary location as well- could be a lifesaver... or at the very least, a sanity saver. But you've gotta actually fill the stuff out. I recommend a nice purple pen.   

Pinned

Did you know that if you do 50 jumping jacks, 5 push ups, 20 crunches, 30 mountain climbers, and a thirty second plank hold before EACH SHOWER, that you will lose 10 pounds of belly fat and gain a perfect six pack? And did you know you can turn a tablecloth from Target into a really awesome rug? AND did you know that you can bake a pan of blueberry oatmeal that will taste JUST as good on day six as on day ONE? And did you know that a little Elmer’s glue, a little Mod Podge, and a dash of glitter will turn you into Nate freaking Berkus… but hopefully with less leg hair.

I am convinced that somewhere in this great big world there is a little room, and in that room is a bitter little woman with nothing  but a laptop and an endless supply of coffee, posting and reposting thousands of ways that women can torture themselves for not being PP- Pinterest Perfect.

Pinterest is an evil bitch.

That's right, be jealous of my t-shirt scarf
and trendy glitter/paint glass ornament. 

I know of what I speak. How many nights have I, stooped in boredom, decided to just “take a glance”, just an itsy-bitsy glance at Pinterest, something to while away a few minutes while I wait for the dog to finish doing it’s nightly deed. Suddenly it’s 3am, the dog is pissed as hell out on the deck, and I’m twitching out as I pin yet another recipe I’ll never make or “upcycle” that will languish unfinished in my garage. I’m salivating over delectable baked goods I’ll never find the time to make,  adorable treats that will never be decorated (no matter how “super simple!” it is to turn a Milano cookie into a sheep).

It’s such a love/hate relationship, that Pinterest thing. Everything looks so easy! So simple! And so ECONOMICAL! Hit the thrift store and turn this busted down frame and handful of Jock Jams CDs into a wedding-worthy frame! A bottle of glue and two drops of food color will turn ordinary glass into delicate artwork! Crayons and a hairdryer? GENIUS! And glitter… my GOD THE GLITTER.   

Contagion: Craft Room
Nothing spreads like GLITTER....

(whomever said glitter was the herpes of the artwork really did herpes a grave disservice. This crap is everywhere and I can’t get rid of it. Glitter on silverware? Really? What the HELL was  I thinking? Who let me on the computer past two am again?)

When reality hits me I see Pinterest for what it is… a way to share ideas we’ll never follow up on, a way to pretend we have spare time and extra craftiness in our lives when, in reality, we’re lucky to take the time to match socks from the laundry. It’s the concept, the idea, the dream that somewhere there is a woman dressed in a perfectly matching palette, wearing her t-shirt fringe scarf lovingly crafted from one of her husband’s old upcycled vintage tees, her hair in a perfect fishbone braid she learned off a blog page, effortlessly planning two months worth of meals on a $50 budget (with heavy crock pot usage, natch) while redecorating her palatial home on a budget comprised of the spare change she found underneath her newly reupholstered sofa…. 

How does this HAPPEN? I think I have glitter in my EARS.

And maybe, just a little, we hope that this shows us the way- not necessarily for the perfect home, or the perfect marriage, or the perfect life (though hey, we aren't arguing if that's a byproduct)... but that somehow we can figure out just exactly how we can squeeze 30 hours worth of needs into a 24 hour day. Surely these scarf making, cupcake baking, canvas painting people know the secret, right? So even as we waste precious hours clicking and pinning and oohing and ahhhing, hours we don't really have... we can't stop. Somewhere in those pins likes The Answer, like a bedazzled Ark of the Convenant. 

Not that it will matter if we do figure it out, though. We’ll be too busy cleaning up all of this damned glitter. What the HELL? 

Taking the Plunge

We're going to pretend the last six months didn't happen, aren't we? Of course we are. 

Really, the rate things are going around here it was going to take something epic to get me to post a blog. I mean, seriously- who turned my treadmill on high and where's the key to this damned chain??? Anyone that tells you your life will calm down and you'll get more sleep once your kids are older is LYING TO YOU. LYYYYINNNNNGGGGG.

*cough* Anyway.

But seriously, we are talking epic here. Monumentous, even. Something I never, ever thought I'd be saying again. I mean, I thought I was done with all of this, thought I was done with it years ago. But here I am, ready to take the plunge again.

I'm having a garage sale.

(ha! Bet you thought I was going to say I'm pregnant, didn't you? HA HA HA HA. Wait, you didn't? What, was my delivery off? Not sincere enough? Crap.)

I know that, as a card carrying Suburban Mom I should be well versed in the subject of all things yard/garage sale related. You can't spit on Saturdays without hitting a neighborhood sale around here. I've avoided them, though- having one, going to one, driving by one (ok, maybe not so much that last part). Nothing to do with garage sales, no sir, no ma'am. And it's all because of David.  Well, to be more accurate- it's all because of David's MOM.

Once upon a time, back in the Oklahoma Years(tm), I was a part of this kickass online group of moms. We all had kids within a year or two of each other, so we'd organize playdates and nights out. It was so awesome having other people to talk to during those hellish playground hours. Seriously, any mom who tells you that she just LURRRRRRVEEES spending hour upon hour with her special lil' Chiclet romping through the playground without a single adult soul to talk to? LYYYYYYING. Or on drugs. Or maybe both. Probably both.

We saved each other from that. We'd turn all of the kids loose and then we could sit back and chat (or gossip... because really, that's what we were doing. Let's be honest here. There's always good dirt in the Mommies group. Always.) and everyone was happy. We were so happy that we decided to throw a six family garage sale. It made sense at the time.

Six families! Boy stuff and girl stuff and baby stuff and toddler stuff and mommy stuff and daddy stuff and EVERYTHING YOU COULD EVER WANT THAT WAS SLIGHTLY TO MODERATELY USED IN ONE GARAGE!!!!! My garage, to be more specific. This was one of those moments that I volunteered myself and within two seconds really wished I hadn't. I could just feel all the ways it could go wrong festering in my stomach like bad tequila (wait, is there such at thing...?). I suppose it made sense logically, though, to host at my place. We lived in a nice open neighborhood, unlike the moms that lived on base nearby. The streets were wide and spacious for cars to get through, unlike the moms that lived on tiny little streets. We had a big-ass garage... that pretty much sealed the deal right there. Plans were made, permits were filed, signs were made, and on a Thursday night we gathered all the men-folk an' chillern to sort, price, separate, and 

organize.

(I'll pause for you to laugh at the idea of ANY of that getting accomplished with six husbands and nine kids running loose. OK, you can stop now.)

It WAS fun, though... eating pizza and riding around sticking signs in the ground and making fun of the guys playing basketball. And to be honest, Friday went pretty okay. One mom showed up with Krispy Kremes at 6am, another started the coffee, and by 7am the doors were thrown open on a gorgeous June morning and we were ready for business. We sold a lot of crap, made some new friends, and let our kids entertain themselves. Really, it was like one long day at the park.

And then came Saturday. Two days was good. The third day... the kids are getting cranky. The moms are getting tired. Patience is wearing thin. We'd been up late the night before. Chris- who was three at the time, had gotten a new lightsaber Friday night and simply COULD NOT GO TO SLEEP due to the excitement of it all. The thing LIT UP. He was so amped he ended up just crashing on the sofa at about one am, sending me staggering to bed shortly after, the idea of my six am alarm making me cringe. But six came, and I dutifully got up and started the coffee. There were going to be a lot less of us that day; most of the moms had other things that needed to be taken care of, but in the interest of trying to make a little more dough I agreed to open for Saturday (I know, I know.) My help for the day would be David's Mom.

You know that mom on the playground that's always JUST this side of judgemental... she looks at you with a sympathetic smile and mourns how hard it must be to have a child that eats sand/can't climb the monkey bars/has an affectation for Wilson Philips songs. She likes to be in power because darn it, her way is the RIGHT way. Add in a nice heaping spoonful of social awkwardness and a penchant for yoga pants and you've got David's mom. And a little of David's mom went a long, long way. When she arrived just before seven I was half irritated- she was supposed to arrive no later than six-thirty. When I saw that she had four year old David in tow, I found the other half of my irritation. We'd had an agreement, we mommies- Saturday morning the kids were staying at home. In fact, that's why a few of the moms couldn't make it, and hey- I respected that. We wanted to have a couple of hours of sales, and then it would be packing up and separating what people wanted to keep (nothing, really) and what people wanted sorted to take back home (anything David's mom brought). Cranky pre-schoolers and such work don't mix. They don't mix at all. It was the decision that was made. It was MOMMY LAW. Until she came wandering up the drive with her sugared up four year old at 6:50am. 

All I asked was that she not take David inside. That's all i asked. We had a front yard full of toys, and he was wide awake. All I wanted was for Chris to be able to sleep another couple of horus, to spare myself the agony of the sleep-deprived toddler. I was even super specific: "Could you do me a favor and keep David outside? Chris had a hard time sleeping last night and didn't crash on the sofa until well after midnight. I want to let him sleep as long as I can." I even said THANK YOU. Thank you for doing what I freaking asked.

So naturally I shouldn't have been surprised when my seething husband hissed out the front door at me. "What the hell is this kid doing in here sitting on Chris?" Sitting... wait, sitting ON? ON my kid? My sleeping (well, not anymore) kid?  Oh, right. Because naturally "please keep your kid out of my living room where my kid is sleeping" translates to "Go ahead and give your kid a donut for each hand, plop him RIGHT DOWN ON TOP OF MY KID'S LEGS ON THE SOFA, and turn on cartoons as loud as you can." Right.

It went downhill from there. I don't even want to get into the story of her lying in a recliner moaning about how taxing the day had been while directing me on what stuff to pack for her. I can already feel that little vein in the side of my head throbbing.

So that, good readers, is why I don't do garage sales. Until now. And obviously the only thing that can convince me to bust out the marking pens and color coded stickers once again is something very powerful, very powerful indeed.

Pinterest. I need to redecorate. I need money for primer and canvases and Mod Podge. LOTS of Mod Podge. Freaking VATS OF MOD PODGE. I'm not even sure what mod podge is, but it gets mentioned a lot on pinterest.

Freaking Pinterest. Only it could convince me to sell my crap so I can redo other people's crap. Evil genius.