I don't claim to know what I'm doing here. I just have an obsession with documenting my life. I also can't brag about knowing how to do anything I do better than anyone else. This is just how I do it, for whatever that's worth.
To wit, here's how I'm managing to move a two-story suburban household of three two-footed and three four-footed sentient beings (we're not moving the plants, since they're mostly in the ground here) into two new abodes. Bear in mind that this is all mixed in with sorely needed at-home employment and a schooled-at-home preteen:
1. Whine a lot several weeks in advance about how you don't know how you're gonna manage this move. Collect the empty boxes that start rolling in from concerned loved ones, and take names of the ones who pat you on the back worriedly and say, "I can help."
2. Encourage the roommate to pack his own things for his own new destination. Use prompts like quickly transferring his dishes to their very own box, to clear the cupboard, but let him do the wrapping/packing.
2. Each time your preteen walks away to any other room, ask where he's going and what he's doing. He might still sneak a quick game on the computer, but at least he knows that you know that he's not doing what he's been asked to do (which would be packing).
3. Occasionally visit interesting weblinks that friends have shared on FB and read them out loud in tandem with your preteen. Call it school.
4. Ignore the phone, unless it's an employer calling. Or your Editor. Or someone else you love. Or the new utility companies. If it starts with 800-, 888-, or 877... let it go. It's for H3, anyway, and he hasn't been here in years. They'll manage without your help.
5. Tweet and update FB status frequently as you breeze by the computer on the table again. This will make everyone think you're still okay. Or you can use social media to send up distress signals. Just don't expect responses because everyone else is working. At offices. Or quiet houses. Or their mom's. Anywhere but here.
6. Almost most importantly, shut down the daily hamster wheel of life.
8. Cry. A lot. Remember -- to the mover goes the beer. Something to look forward to...
Yesterday's dinner:
Scrambled eggs
Boiled chicken thigh (with lots of cumin, garlic, & chili powder)
Sliced banana
Frozen pancakes
Sliced tomato
Sliced avocado
The rest of the milk
Today's breakfast:
Frozen Pancake Tacos & OJ
Nuke frozen pancakes, 3 at a time, for a minute/20 seconds.
Spread peanut butter on one side.
Dribble a line of honey down the middle.
Fold like a taco and eat.
To wit, here's how I'm managing to move a two-story suburban household of three two-footed and three four-footed sentient beings (we're not moving the plants, since they're mostly in the ground here) into two new abodes. Bear in mind that this is all mixed in with sorely needed at-home employment and a schooled-at-home preteen:
1. Whine a lot several weeks in advance about how you don't know how you're gonna manage this move. Collect the empty boxes that start rolling in from concerned loved ones, and take names of the ones who pat you on the back worriedly and say, "I can help."
2. Encourage the roommate to pack his own things for his own new destination. Use prompts like quickly transferring his dishes to their very own box, to clear the cupboard, but let him do the wrapping/packing.
2. Each time your preteen walks away to any other room, ask where he's going and what he's doing. He might still sneak a quick game on the computer, but at least he knows that you know that he's not doing what he's been asked to do (which would be packing).
3. Occasionally visit interesting weblinks that friends have shared on FB and read them out loud in tandem with your preteen. Call it school.
4. Ignore the phone, unless it's an employer calling. Or your Editor. Or someone else you love. Or the new utility companies. If it starts with 800-, 888-, or 877... let it go. It's for H3, anyway, and he hasn't been here in years. They'll manage without your help.
5. Tweet and update FB status frequently as you breeze by the computer on the table again. This will make everyone think you're still okay. Or you can use social media to send up distress signals. Just don't expect responses because everyone else is working. At offices. Or quiet houses. Or their mom's. Anywhere but here.
6. Almost most importantly, shut down the daily hamster wheel of life.
- Don't buy anything that goes in the pantry or fridge. Eat what's there. Go without. Suck it up.
- Wash dirty clothes and sheets, but don't fold them. Bag them up from the clothesline. Give away what you don't want or cut them into rags. Wear the same shorts & shirt for days on end.
- Clean house only to the point of keeping people healthy. Here, that means I vacuum up fistfuls of dog hair.
- Give up on any work that requires quiet, solitude, or use of your brain. Beg your employers for understanding and forgiveness. Or find new ones.
8. Cry. A lot. Remember -- to the mover goes the beer. Something to look forward to...
Yesterday's dinner:
Scrambled eggs
Boiled chicken thigh (with lots of cumin, garlic, & chili powder)
Sliced banana
Frozen pancakes
Sliced tomato
Sliced avocado
The rest of the milk
Today's breakfast:
Frozen Pancake Tacos & OJ
Nuke frozen pancakes, 3 at a time, for a minute/20 seconds.
Spread peanut butter on one side.
Dribble a line of honey down the middle.
Fold like a taco and eat.
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