Silently, I pull out the glass bowl. I get the metal one-cup measure without clinking it on the counter. I do not rustle the measuring spoons. I stare into the other room. I have not been detected.
One false move and it will all be over.
I add the flour, crack a couple of eggs, coughing over the noise of the tap, tap, tap on the granite. I pour in vanilla, add milk, and cover up each little noise that might indicate I am making pancakes.
I am nearly home free. I don’t to pause to find the cookbook. I can do this from memory. I reach for the butter… #$%$! There is no butter upstairs. I must go down below and fetch some, causing a delay that might never be recovered.
I bring up the butter from the freezer. I cut it, melt it in the microwave…the final ingredient. Preparing to stir I hear…
“What are you making?” He teleports in front of me. Declan, aka–the boy who wanted to make pancakes.
I am caught. It was all for naught.
The good mom would have been proactive, “Come help me make pancakes.” It’s not that I don’t want to cook with him. He’s my mini chef. It’s that I want to eat something today, without lumps, and I don’t want to invest the additional time in scraping batter off the walls or listen to anyone’s complaints. I wanted to cook quickly and neatly for once. This place is enough of a mess already, and it’s pretty much my fault.
If you doubt me, consult my Tupperware cabinet.
A person’s Tupperware cabinet is a reflection of their state of mind. Mine’s not pretty. I empty the dishwasher, and toss stuff back. This is similar to my process for anything–thinking, writing, creating… except those I refine with many edits, rereads, and details. Tupperware–not so much. Open the door, wait for the avalanche. Simple. When I’m in need, I crack the door, just the slightest bit, and use the first matched set that tumbles out. Which takes a while, because science tells us that Tupperware pieces migrate South during picnic season. I have to dig deep to find a matching set that stayed for the summer.
This summer I hope to reintroduce myself to my organization skills. I wrote on the Grockit blog that I would learn one new thing, and show it off on Learnist. A 30 Day Challenge. I’m wondering if that new thing could be organizing. I’ve attempted organizing before, so I’m not sure if it counts as “new” but I’m so awful that I suppose it might grandfather itself in. There are tons of things I could learn, I suppose, like Icelandic or astrophysics, but I want my project to be useful. I think of all the things I keep meaning to learn or do, and I see a theme–procrastination. Anti-procrastination could be my challenge, too, but I don’t think that’s a learning issue. That’s a “do it now!” fire.
For example, for a month I’ve been meaning to clean my glasses. I wear them every day, and I noticed the need in passing certainly by the beginning of Spring. You’d think I could pick up some Windex and a tissue. Today, I got up, all fired up, and said, “Just do it.” I found the Windex, polished away, and saved myself $5K in eye surgery. I never knew how many colors there were in the rainbow.
There are a ton of things I haven’t done that need to get done. The cellar never got cleaned when we moved in. Now, since I can see, I can organize if I’m not to distracted. I can even detail my car, which still has farm straw from mulching season.
I’ll tackle organizing and procrastination both with this challenge. The board will force me to tackle one thing a day and do something about it. It’s going to be a long board. I might break it down by the week. I wonder if there are 30 things to organize around here…check back in the comments really soon. I’m guessing my husband will include a list. Perhaps you have some helpful suggestions you can add, here, as well. Laughter does not count as a helpful suggestion. Stay tuned.