When going with the flow means $h!+ doesn't get done

I have always prided myself on being a laid-back kind of girl. No rigid routines. No crazy procedures. No Meatloaf Monday,  Taco Tuesday at our house. Nope. The words that I use to describe myself are words like "easy going" and "flexible."

Those are adjectives that I'm happy to be associated with. (Yes, I know I just ended a sentence with a preposition, but because I'm rolling with the punches, I'm happy to look the other way.) But I've reached a point in my life where the going with the flow means shit doesn't get done.

Appointments get missed because they weren't immediately put into the family calendar that resides on our phones. Late night writing sessions occur because suddenly instead of having four weeks to get eight articles written, I have two days. Boys go commando under their shorts (not that they're complaining) because I forgot to wash the load of dirty underwear sitting in the hallway. The gym membership goes paid for, but unused, because the thought of "I need to exercise" somehow doesn't translate into actual exercise without some planning and dedication.

It's time, I'm afraid, for me to pull out the "s" word. No, not the one I've already used. The other one. The one that makes me want to a choke a little bit just saying it.

"Structure."

I'm envisioning before and after school checklists for the kids. Family calendar meetings on Sundays after church to plan for the week ahead. A writing schedule for myself so that all of my assignments get the attention they deserve. A routine school-work-gym schedule that fills everyone's needs.

In some ways, the implementation of more structure in my life feels a little like my carefree self has been defeated. That there will be some anal list-maker type standing over my shoulder saying "I told you so." (Sally from Mike Myers' "The Cat in the Hat" movie, anyone?) Yet there is a part of me that is deliciously tempted by the promise of order and sanity.

Maybe I will find that being a little more organized in my approach to life will actually leave more room to be easy-going, instead of rushed and harried, trying to catch up in those places where I've fallen behind. Or maybe it will suck.

Who knows? But I'm willing to give it a try.

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Stop him before he organizes again.

My husband needs a job. I am afraid of what will happen if he continues to spend the majority of his waking hours in our house.

It started with the brown bins. You know, the art deco-ish kind they sell at Target to make you think that THIS time you really are going to get your stuff together?

I think he said that the bins were for school, bills and mail. Or maybe they were for mail, bills and coupons? I can't remember. Right now in their dust-gathering spot on the dining room table, they are for random papers, newspapers and impossibly old school papers. (Don't ask me where the bills are.)

Then there were the big laundry tubs. 5 of them -- one for each member of the family. 4 blue and 1 pink, for Annie because she's a girl. Apparently Mike forgot that I possess a set of ovaries as well. Anyway, I was skeptical of the laundry bins because they are round. Who folds round clothes?

The kids weren't as skeptical as I was about the new laundry tubs. In fact, they love them:

I will admit that the tubs are handy for moving laundry in and out of the laundry room. So it wasn't all for naught, but they aren't working out exactly as Mike envisioned. (Three of them are sitting in the entryway as I type.)

But today, he moved from container cravings to higher realms. Higher as in he bought plastic bed risers to put under the frame of our bed. I went upstairs and felt like I'd fallen into the Princess and Pea fairy tale. Keep in mind that I am only 5'3" on a day when I'm standing up very straight. This new uplifting experience has raised the top of our mattress to about 31 inches. My bed is almost half as tall as I am. And the poor dog -- she can't jump on the top of the mattress anymore. She gets hung up on the edge and just gives you a look like "Hey, can a dog get some help here?"

When I asked him what had motivated him to put our bed on stilts, he didn't hear me at first. He was too busy looking at books on feng shui on Amazon.com, heaven help me. Once I finally got his attention, he said he did it so we can store stuff under the bed.

"Store stuff?" I asked. "We already store stuff under the bed -- dust bunnies, escaped fruit snack wrappers, fugitive socks and an eclectic assortment of Littlest Pet Shop toys and Legos."

Mike failed to see the humor or the logic in this.

"No, really," he went on. "See, I got these baskets to slide under the bed to store stuff." 

Again with the baskets?! But I hold my tongue because my dearly departed mother-in-law was famous for using laundry baskets as a haphazard filing and storage "system" and I think the mourning period is still in effect. Instead, I asked Mike what "stuff" he had in mind for the baskets. 

"The stuff that we have all over. The stuff in the closets."

"You mean the stuff we should just give away and be rid of?"

His body language conceded defeat on that one. But then he came in with the save -- "For shoes! We can store our shoes in the baskets under the bed."

Again, because I'm trying not to be too disagreeable I offered up an "ok," not mentioning that if we cleaned out the closets, there would be plenty of room in there for the shoes. 

I did ask what the acceptable weight load for these plastic risers is. He said something about using 6 risers instead of 4 so it will be fine. I'm thinking we might want to sleep in shifts, just in case. We are not the smallest people, after all.

I can only imagine what he's got planned for tomorrow, and I am afraid.

Same stuff, different year

It's Saturday morning and I'm greeted by the week's mail (and likely some from last week as well), piled up on the island in my kitchen. In a not so coy attempt at procrastination, I thought I'd write about it before actually attempting to take it on.

That's when I had an inkling that I've tackled this topic before. A quick search, and sure enough, there it was. Sadly, it was an entry I'd posted in July 2008 and not much has changed. Sigh... Except now there are people who actually read my blog and who probably won't mind a repeat from long, long ago:

Drowning in paper

I vote for a paperless society.

At the moment, my dining room table is covered in paper. My kitchen counter is a repository of the daily influx of paper that comes to our house. My work tote holds papers that have been in there for longer than they are useful. My desk at work is its own sea of paper.

I have piles of paper permeating my presence!

It's not that I don't throw away paper. I do. The credit card offers and the mailers from the local chiropractor never find rest in my home. They go straight from the mailbox to the trash can. But what if I might need that coupon for 35 cents off a box of Kleenex? (Never mind the fact that it has literally been years since I've redeemed a coupon. -- 2010 note, ok so that's changed.) And someday I might want to order those jammies from the Company Kids catalog (yes, I know they are available online. But having the catalog around reminds that I might want to order them -- besides, it gives me something to read in the bathroom.)

The Indianapolis Star is delivered to our home Thursday-Sunday. Not that I ever read it. But I like to spend my Sundays reading the Target ad and those schemers over at the Star won't let me just get a subscription to the Sunday paper. So it comes to our house four days a week. I peruse it, and set aside the sections that I might want to read later. And by the time next Thursday rolls around, I've read the Target ad and maybe the comics and occasionally the front page. And the cycle starts over.

I know when school starts, this problem will only be compounded. Homework, permission slips, third grade essays that are too precious to throw away, artwork that ought to be framed. Just thinking about it is enough to make me break out into paper pox!

There are a zillion books on the subject -- Taming the Paper Tiger comes to mind. There are people who've built entire careers on rescuing the paper pathetic. I know -- I've read the books and hired the people to no lasting avail.

So I'm drowning in paper here. And I'm thinking I need to buy a shredder and call to order a recycling box. And I'm dreaming of a paperless society.