Here's how yesterday went for me:
I dropped Holly off at day camp – just two miles down the road – at 9:00. I came home, posted my daily blog entry (which I'd written the night before), made coffee, toasted a bagel, and drove Tim to his friend Will's house at 9:45. Then I headed for the supermarket. I'd promised to make cupcakes for Holly's last-day-of-camp luncheon, and the ones I'd made the night before were a disaster, so I had to buy some instead.
I was home by 11:00 and had time to make final revisions to two press releases I'd written the day before. Then at 12:00, back to Holly's day camp for the last-day reading ceremony at which each girl read her favorite piece she'd written that week.
Home in time to check emails; then I dropped Holly off at a friend's house at 2:00 and headed across town to pick Tim up at Will's house. Will's mother invited me to stay; she and two other moms were sitting by the pool snacking and chatting. I would have liked to, but with only one full work day left before we leave for vacation, I had to get home and meet some more deadlines.
Tim hadn't had lunch, so I helped him put a sandwich together and then headed out to pick up a friend's children at their day camp because medical conditions are preventing my friend from driving at the moment. I found the kids, brought them to their house, and headed back home.
Next, I contacted three sources for interviews related to the arts column I need to submit today. The topic of the column is 3D photography, and it turns out that artists who are interested in this kind of work really have a lot to say about it. I took notes as fast as I could, one eye on the clock, because I knew by 5 I had to start loading up the car to go to the transfer station.
When my phone calls were done, I headed out to the garage and started piling bags of trash and bins of recycling into the back of the car. When the car was full, I mounted one of our bikes on the bike rack; I told my sister I would deliver it to my parents' house so she could use it over the weekend. Next, on to the transfer station to unload all the trash and recycling. There I ran into the neighbor who has just started boarding cows at my parents' farm; he wanted to talk cows, so I listened to his theories about udder malfunctions and slaughter schedules while I threw trash bags into the compactor.
I was right on time to pick Holly up at her friend's house at 6:00. I loitered for a few minutes chatting with her friend's mother; then as we were leaving remembered that I was supposed to do a phone interview at 6:30 with an 11-year-old runner who plans to take part in the Chicago half-marathon next month. And Holly and I still had to drop off the bike at my parents' house. They weren't home, so we left the bike in the garage and the mail on the bench and hurried off, but halfway home, I remembered that the bike helmet was still on the seat next to me. Much to Holly's dismay, we doubled back to my parents' house and left the helmet.
The Chicago runner and his mother, both on speakerphone, called just as I was pulling into our garage. I rushed inside to start up my laptop so I could take notes. It's a good story; I'm looking forward to writing it up.
Once that call was over, I indulged in a rush of relief. All my scheduled events for the day were done; moreover, I'd left the house six different times for six different pre-scheduled drop-offs or pick-ups and hadn't forgotten or even been late for a single one. I'd also met a number of small but necessary work goals for the day: finished the press releases, done the interviews for my arts column and the marathon article.
So then I washed the dishes, put away food, and did the dreaded chore of removing mouse droppings from the cabinet under the sink. It seems every three or four days, I find enough down there to warrant a clean-up. I don't understand why, because there's no food under the sink and I never find evidence of mice anywhere else in the kitchen or the rest of the house. It's as if they wiggle their way through the hole near the drainpipe, wander into the cabinet for the sole purpose of pooping, and disappear again. My friend Sheila recently told me about a new mouse repellent she's very happy with; I'll have to put it on my To Do list for today to get to the hardware store where Sheila found it and buy some.
Ah yes, today's To Do list. Because every 24 hours, there's a new one. I managed to get through a lot yesterday, but today there are still more work assignments to complete, more errands to run, more household jobs to do. And yet yesterday felt like a particularly notable accomplishment; I was pleased with the way all the pieces had fit together – the six rides, the transfer station, moving the bike – and rather than feeling beleaguered by all that needed to be done, I was pleased that it had all turned out to be manageable and, more importantly, that I hadn't forgotten anyone anywhere.
When I was younger, before I had children, I honestly believed there were secrets, keys, to good organizational skills, and all I had to do was read the right book or attend the right lecture with the right expert and then I too would understand how to Be Organized. I even occasionally signed up for personal organization classes. Eventually I grew skeptical that there was any one answer, but these days I look around and feel a sense of accomplishment. It's not anything I learned from a book, and it's not anything I could write a book about either. It's not any particular key or slogan or trick or shortcut. It's just...living your life. Meeting your obligations. Keeping track of it all.
And it turns out that experience really is the best possible teacher.
Showing posts with label organized. Show all posts
Showing posts with label organized. Show all posts
Friday, August 19, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Once in a while, a whine can help
I always enjoy reading the Frugal Mama blog written by my long-distance friend, Amy Carden Suardi. She has practical ideas, a pleasant outlook, and a very natural form of self-expression. Sometimes I find myself to be lacking in all three of these areas, so she’s a good influence on me for myriad reasons.
Recently she invited guest-blogger Nihara of “Doing Too Much” to write this post about organizational tips, which I found refreshing because they were so simple and straightforward. None of the usual “Make six different To Do lists and rank them by priority; then keep hard copies in your glove compartment, your purse and your nighttable drawer while also sending electronic copies to your Smartphone and your laptop computer” kinds of instructions that these articles occasionally contain – which tend to make me decide that maybe being a little bit disorganized isn’t such a bad thing after all.
The post reminded me most of all that some of my own best organizing insights have come from “listening to my inner whine.” A lot of times I already know what would help me to keep better organized – if I just listen to myself.
To some extent, this approach puts me in mind of the kitchen cabinets in our first home. It’s been nearly a decade since I lived there, but I still remember my frustration with the kitchen’s very deep cabinet shelves, which initially seemed useful – all the better to store more pantry goods. But a lot of times I’d find myself standing at the cupboard thinking “It sure is lucky I have all this storage space – now if only I could reach to the back.” Which, in a slightly whinier mood, comes out more like this: “Why have all this storage space if everything I need ends up behind six rows of other things?” A-ha – maybe deep shelves aren’t such a storage boon after all.
A few weeks ago, I was looking at all the summer clothes I haven’t worn yet this season because they need to be ironed. “Ironing isn’t so bad itself,” protested my inner whine. “It’s just the work of schlepping everything from my closet to the laundry room and back to do it.”
Another a-ha moment: if that’s really the issue, why not keep the ironing board in my clothes closet, so that all the components were right in the same place? We have a fold-up ironing board that fit easily behind the closet door, and now when I want to wear something that needs to be ironed, it takes me only a matter of seconds to set it up and get to work ironing.
Similarly, I realized earlier in the summer that I didn’t have a very effective system for that simplest of endeavors, maintaining a grocery list. It just seemed like I was never quite up-to-date with what I was running out of. “It’s because when I’m cooking, I’m too busy to stop and takes notes on what I’m using up,” said my inner whine. So I made a master list of just about every ingredient I buy in the course of a year and saved it on my laptop. Now, when it’s time to grocery shop, I look over the list and highlight whatever I need, rather than trying to initiate a list from a blank page.
It’s somewhat instinctive to try to quash our inner voices when they whine. “Stop complaining and just get the job done,” we say all too easily. But sometimes, those little voices have something useful to say. I’m gradually learning to pay a little more attention.
Recently she invited guest-blogger Nihara of “Doing Too Much” to write this post about organizational tips, which I found refreshing because they were so simple and straightforward. None of the usual “Make six different To Do lists and rank them by priority; then keep hard copies in your glove compartment, your purse and your nighttable drawer while also sending electronic copies to your Smartphone and your laptop computer” kinds of instructions that these articles occasionally contain – which tend to make me decide that maybe being a little bit disorganized isn’t such a bad thing after all.
The post reminded me most of all that some of my own best organizing insights have come from “listening to my inner whine.” A lot of times I already know what would help me to keep better organized – if I just listen to myself.
To some extent, this approach puts me in mind of the kitchen cabinets in our first home. It’s been nearly a decade since I lived there, but I still remember my frustration with the kitchen’s very deep cabinet shelves, which initially seemed useful – all the better to store more pantry goods. But a lot of times I’d find myself standing at the cupboard thinking “It sure is lucky I have all this storage space – now if only I could reach to the back.” Which, in a slightly whinier mood, comes out more like this: “Why have all this storage space if everything I need ends up behind six rows of other things?” A-ha – maybe deep shelves aren’t such a storage boon after all.
A few weeks ago, I was looking at all the summer clothes I haven’t worn yet this season because they need to be ironed. “Ironing isn’t so bad itself,” protested my inner whine. “It’s just the work of schlepping everything from my closet to the laundry room and back to do it.”
Another a-ha moment: if that’s really the issue, why not keep the ironing board in my clothes closet, so that all the components were right in the same place? We have a fold-up ironing board that fit easily behind the closet door, and now when I want to wear something that needs to be ironed, it takes me only a matter of seconds to set it up and get to work ironing.
Similarly, I realized earlier in the summer that I didn’t have a very effective system for that simplest of endeavors, maintaining a grocery list. It just seemed like I was never quite up-to-date with what I was running out of. “It’s because when I’m cooking, I’m too busy to stop and takes notes on what I’m using up,” said my inner whine. So I made a master list of just about every ingredient I buy in the course of a year and saved it on my laptop. Now, when it’s time to grocery shop, I look over the list and highlight whatever I need, rather than trying to initiate a list from a blank page.
It’s somewhat instinctive to try to quash our inner voices when they whine. “Stop complaining and just get the job done,” we say all too easily. But sometimes, those little voices have something useful to say. I’m gradually learning to pay a little more attention.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Six-day back-to-school countdown
Last week I wrote here about the first stage of the back-to-school countdown. Somehow eight days have gone by and we now have less than a week to go before school starts. I figured I’d better re-evaluate how we were doing with our school-year preparedness.
On the plus side, I crossed off the last three items on the required school-supply list yesterday: a box of Kleenex and a roll of paper towels for each kid, plus a 70-page spiral notebook for Holly. (This is in addition to the 120-page spiral notebook and 100-page bound composition book on her list which I’d already purchased. Don’t get me started on those lists. As I’ve stated before, it’s not the volume of required items; it’s the arcaneness that gets to me.) On the minus side, Holly decided this morning that she was writing a story that absolutely could not be recorded anywhere but in a 70-page spiral notebook, so out came the one I’d just bought so that she could use it and back it went onto my shopping list. Why Holly felt this story could be recorded only in a 70-page spiral notebook, and not any other kind of paper or any other size notebook – such as one we already owned and didn’t need to save for next week – is unclear to me. But she might have a future as a teacher, particularly one responsible for making up required school-supply lists.
Tim’s haircut hasn’t happened yet. No big surprise there. Maybe tomorrow, he assures me.
The earlier wake-up times have been moderately successful this week. I’ve scaled the kids back to eight o’clock, which is an improvement over last week but still an hour later than Tim needs to be up. Realistically, it will be a trial-by-fire situation. He’ll start getting up at seven on the first day of school.
Tim’s making his way through the last section of the math packet. If he stays on course with a page or two per day, he’ll finish toward the beginning of Labor Day weekend. It’s not quite last-minute, but it’s not a model of time management either. Well, I suppose if he finished it too early in the summer, he would start to forget all those math skills by the time school was starting.
Holly still needs to draw her favorite scene from her favorite summer-reading book. She’s gotten as far as identifying in her mind what scene she plans to draw. Unfortunately, it’s two characters having an argument. I’ve suggested that might not be the easiest action to sketch, but she’s made it clear she has too much integrity to choose a feasting scene or a fishing scene just because they’d be easier to draw. Last night she packed up markers and paper to take with us when we head to Maine in a few days. She’s hoping to feel more creatively inspired up north.
So, admittedly, we’re still not quite ready. And I haven’t even approached that most dreaded subject of all: what to pack for the kids’ lunches and snacks. But we still have six days to go. As the pressure builds, we’ll surely grow more productive. And if we don’t? Well, school will begin anyway, and my kids will be there. Ideally with completed math packets, beautifully sketched scenes from summer reading, and healthy snacks tucked into their backpacks. Six days? It could happen. I’m optimistic about it. A new pair of shoes, a good night’s sleep, and they’ll be good to go.
As for myself, I’m still working on getting into the fall spirit. But the first step is getting them ready. Then maybe I’ll find myself full of autumnal energy. It’s possible. It’s even possible I’ll actually get Tim in for that haircut. It’s a new school year, and anything could happen.
On the plus side, I crossed off the last three items on the required school-supply list yesterday: a box of Kleenex and a roll of paper towels for each kid, plus a 70-page spiral notebook for Holly. (This is in addition to the 120-page spiral notebook and 100-page bound composition book on her list which I’d already purchased. Don’t get me started on those lists. As I’ve stated before, it’s not the volume of required items; it’s the arcaneness that gets to me.) On the minus side, Holly decided this morning that she was writing a story that absolutely could not be recorded anywhere but in a 70-page spiral notebook, so out came the one I’d just bought so that she could use it and back it went onto my shopping list. Why Holly felt this story could be recorded only in a 70-page spiral notebook, and not any other kind of paper or any other size notebook – such as one we already owned and didn’t need to save for next week – is unclear to me. But she might have a future as a teacher, particularly one responsible for making up required school-supply lists.
Tim’s haircut hasn’t happened yet. No big surprise there. Maybe tomorrow, he assures me.
The earlier wake-up times have been moderately successful this week. I’ve scaled the kids back to eight o’clock, which is an improvement over last week but still an hour later than Tim needs to be up. Realistically, it will be a trial-by-fire situation. He’ll start getting up at seven on the first day of school.
Tim’s making his way through the last section of the math packet. If he stays on course with a page or two per day, he’ll finish toward the beginning of Labor Day weekend. It’s not quite last-minute, but it’s not a model of time management either. Well, I suppose if he finished it too early in the summer, he would start to forget all those math skills by the time school was starting.
Holly still needs to draw her favorite scene from her favorite summer-reading book. She’s gotten as far as identifying in her mind what scene she plans to draw. Unfortunately, it’s two characters having an argument. I’ve suggested that might not be the easiest action to sketch, but she’s made it clear she has too much integrity to choose a feasting scene or a fishing scene just because they’d be easier to draw. Last night she packed up markers and paper to take with us when we head to Maine in a few days. She’s hoping to feel more creatively inspired up north.
So, admittedly, we’re still not quite ready. And I haven’t even approached that most dreaded subject of all: what to pack for the kids’ lunches and snacks. But we still have six days to go. As the pressure builds, we’ll surely grow more productive. And if we don’t? Well, school will begin anyway, and my kids will be there. Ideally with completed math packets, beautifully sketched scenes from summer reading, and healthy snacks tucked into their backpacks. Six days? It could happen. I’m optimistic about it. A new pair of shoes, a good night’s sleep, and they’ll be good to go.
As for myself, I’m still working on getting into the fall spirit. But the first step is getting them ready. Then maybe I’ll find myself full of autumnal energy. It’s possible. It’s even possible I’ll actually get Tim in for that haircut. It’s a new school year, and anything could happen.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Sunday night rebound
I love going away for the weekend. I love the novelty of being somewhere else for just a night or two, getting to experience a different setting without the larger-scale effort of going on an actual vacation. Just leaving town from Friday evening to Sunday, or in the case of this weekend less: only twenty-four hours. Even twenty-four hours out of town feels special and festive to me.
What I don’t love so much is coming back. Not that I don’t also love to be home: I do. I like to get back to the familiar comforts of my own house and re-connect with whoever didn’t come with me: half the family, in the case of this weekend. I like to check on the pets and see what they’ve been lacking while I was away. I like to re-establish regular household routines, even after just a very short break from them. And not least, I’m always grateful for safe travels completed.
I don’t love coming back from a weekend away only because of the seemingly exponential trouble of catching up before a new work week begins. It just doesn’t make sense to me that as little as twenty-four hours away from home can generate this much extra work as Sunday draws to a close, and I thought this weekend would be different: I thought if I made the effort to bring fewer clothes and less food I’d spend much less time unpacking; if I spent more time leaving the house neat and taking care of tasks before we left, I’d find myself ahead of the game upon return.
But it never happens like that. I always feel overburdened upon returning, between unpacking, cleaning out the car, sorting clean from dirty laundry, getting perishables from the cooler back into the fridge, and then making dinner and ensuring that the kids have what they need for the upcoming Monday at school: snacks, lunches, permission slips, sneakers for PE class.
Common sense tells me that the best way to make Sunday evening after a trip run smoothly is to get home with plenty of time to spare. And yet my friend Nicole does exactly the opposite. When her family goes away for the weekend – which they do fairly often – she has no problem with staying out as long as possible. On Memorial Day weekend, although our families were staying in different towns, we spent an afternoon together at the beach in Maine. “What time are you heading home tomorrow?” I asked her, already thinking about Memorial Day traffic. “As late as we can,” she said. “We’ll have dinner on the porch and go back to the beach until the sun sets.”
“But how can you pull that off?” I asked her, not for the first time. “How are you organized for the new work week if you don’t leave here until after seven at night? How do you have the kids in bed on time? How do you get school lunches made?”
Nicole is a very organized person. She ticked off the ways. “We’ll have dinner before we leave for home, so that’s out of the way. The kids know the tradeoff for staying at the beach late is that they have to go straight to bed when we get home. And that it will be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. They brought their homework with them. They can pack their backpacks in the morning. It works out, and we get to have more fun by staying longer.”
As I hurried around my kitchen last night at ten o'clock still trying to get ready for a new workweek, I thought about that some more. It’s not like Nicole is being cavalier: she runs a household every bit as organized as mine, plus she has to go off to work in the morning, which I don’t. And I so envy her attitude, of not marring the weekend’s fun with an early departure; if you’re having a good time, why not make it last as long as possible? Her approach makes my conservative plan to get home with plenty of time to spare on Sunday seem so parsimonious.
But honestly, I’m still not sure how she does it. We got home at five yesterday and I’m still not unpacked. The kitchen is untidy; the car hasn’t been vacuumed; and the kids will have to rummage for school snacks in the morning. I didn’t manage well at all as far as the end-of-the-weekend return home.
I want to make it work Nicole’s way: make the fun last as long as possible and then make everything fall into place in the morning. She’s lucky as well as talented in the way that her kids know exactly what they need to do to make the plan work out. Her family’s weekend included three more hours of fun than ours did, and even leaving midafternoon wasn’t enough to keep me from being frazzled by bedtime.
So I’ll keep working on it, and maybe someday I’ll figure out how Nicole makes it work when I can’t. Mostly, I just try to remind myself that part of it might be a willingness to compromise. Peanut butter and jelly for school lunches? It’s not what we normally do, but maybe the kids would agree it was worth a little extra time outdoors on a sunny Sunday.
What I don’t love so much is coming back. Not that I don’t also love to be home: I do. I like to get back to the familiar comforts of my own house and re-connect with whoever didn’t come with me: half the family, in the case of this weekend. I like to check on the pets and see what they’ve been lacking while I was away. I like to re-establish regular household routines, even after just a very short break from them. And not least, I’m always grateful for safe travels completed.
I don’t love coming back from a weekend away only because of the seemingly exponential trouble of catching up before a new work week begins. It just doesn’t make sense to me that as little as twenty-four hours away from home can generate this much extra work as Sunday draws to a close, and I thought this weekend would be different: I thought if I made the effort to bring fewer clothes and less food I’d spend much less time unpacking; if I spent more time leaving the house neat and taking care of tasks before we left, I’d find myself ahead of the game upon return.
But it never happens like that. I always feel overburdened upon returning, between unpacking, cleaning out the car, sorting clean from dirty laundry, getting perishables from the cooler back into the fridge, and then making dinner and ensuring that the kids have what they need for the upcoming Monday at school: snacks, lunches, permission slips, sneakers for PE class.
Common sense tells me that the best way to make Sunday evening after a trip run smoothly is to get home with plenty of time to spare. And yet my friend Nicole does exactly the opposite. When her family goes away for the weekend – which they do fairly often – she has no problem with staying out as long as possible. On Memorial Day weekend, although our families were staying in different towns, we spent an afternoon together at the beach in Maine. “What time are you heading home tomorrow?” I asked her, already thinking about Memorial Day traffic. “As late as we can,” she said. “We’ll have dinner on the porch and go back to the beach until the sun sets.”
“But how can you pull that off?” I asked her, not for the first time. “How are you organized for the new work week if you don’t leave here until after seven at night? How do you have the kids in bed on time? How do you get school lunches made?”
Nicole is a very organized person. She ticked off the ways. “We’ll have dinner before we leave for home, so that’s out of the way. The kids know the tradeoff for staying at the beach late is that they have to go straight to bed when we get home. And that it will be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. They brought their homework with them. They can pack their backpacks in the morning. It works out, and we get to have more fun by staying longer.”
As I hurried around my kitchen last night at ten o'clock still trying to get ready for a new workweek, I thought about that some more. It’s not like Nicole is being cavalier: she runs a household every bit as organized as mine, plus she has to go off to work in the morning, which I don’t. And I so envy her attitude, of not marring the weekend’s fun with an early departure; if you’re having a good time, why not make it last as long as possible? Her approach makes my conservative plan to get home with plenty of time to spare on Sunday seem so parsimonious.
But honestly, I’m still not sure how she does it. We got home at five yesterday and I’m still not unpacked. The kitchen is untidy; the car hasn’t been vacuumed; and the kids will have to rummage for school snacks in the morning. I didn’t manage well at all as far as the end-of-the-weekend return home.
I want to make it work Nicole’s way: make the fun last as long as possible and then make everything fall into place in the morning. She’s lucky as well as talented in the way that her kids know exactly what they need to do to make the plan work out. Her family’s weekend included three more hours of fun than ours did, and even leaving midafternoon wasn’t enough to keep me from being frazzled by bedtime.
So I’ll keep working on it, and maybe someday I’ll figure out how Nicole makes it work when I can’t. Mostly, I just try to remind myself that part of it might be a willingness to compromise. Peanut butter and jelly for school lunches? It’s not what we normally do, but maybe the kids would agree it was worth a little extra time outdoors on a sunny Sunday.
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