Since today is about five degrees hotter than hell I have decided to spend the day hiding in the basement. Under the guise of being productive I have locked myself in the storage room to sort through some boxes from our move. I have been putting off these last few boxes because ... well, I don't really have a good reason. I just have a strong tendency to procrastinate but I have decided that today is the day that will change!
Last summer when we moved, I was an unpacking machine. Our garage was full of boxes and my mission was to have the garage cleared before October. I spent day after day sorting, tossing and putting away the 'treasures' we had accumulated during our 13 years of marriage and parenthood. I tried to look past the mislabelled boxes and all of the broken bits and pieces in each box but after three weeks of frustration and disappointment I stopped with the boxes. Whatever had not yet been unpacked I stacked, shoved into closets or hid in the garage rafters, promising myself that one day I would get back at it.
Fast forward 11 months and everything is still stuffed, stacked and hidden. The odd box has been pulled out and rummaged through but for the most part everything is just as it was a year ago ... maybe even worse. Our storage room (that was supposed to be my writing hide-away) has become the graveyard of procrastination. Every project to be finished later, repair to be made when I have time and odd and sod to be put away properly tomorrow -but somehow tomorrow never came - has landed in that room ... including a fully decorated Christmas tree!
So, today is the day. The time to reclaim my space and organise the mayhem is now! I am going in that room and I'm not coming out until its done ... except to grab a coffeejuice, use the washroom, answer the phone, play with the dog, make lunch, make a phone call, send an email, write my blog ....
I was planning on procrastinating today but I think I'll do it tomorrow.
~SomeRandomMother
Showing posts with label The Move. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Move. Show all posts
Monday, July 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
This is How it Starts
Since going small town I haven't been watching very much TV. I used to be a TV connoisseur, or junky as my mom would say. I would watch the usual hits like Grey's Anatomy, Law & Order, CSI and House as well as an array of reality shows like Amazing Race, Mantracker and Hell's Kitchen. And one of my all time favourites, Hoarders...Buried Alive.
There's something about seeing someone else's disaster that makes me feel SOOOO much better about the condition of my house. I can sit back in my messy living room, strewn with dirty socks, half finished crafts and Lego and feel okay with it. I mean really, at least I don't have 912 bobbled head dolls and 17 years worth of newspapers stacked amongst animal droppings and rotting food. Right?
But as I watch the show I wonder, how does it start? You don't all of a sudden wake up one day and find your house full of stray cats, weird collectables and garabge, do you?It has to start somewhere, right? Well, yesterday I had a revelation...this is how it starts.
Since we moved a little more than two months ago our garage has been full of boxes. All of the odds and ends of our life stacked in mislabelled boxes waiting to be sorted and put away. After scraping ice off the van windows a couple of times last week I decided that the garage had to be done pronto. Mr. Awesome had the day off work so we tackled the mess in the garage. I started sorting through boxes, presumably throwing away junk and donating things we no longer need.
About halfway through the clean up Mr. Awesome looked at the 'Keep' stack beside the door and asked, "Seriously?" I glanced over at the teetering pile of keepsakes, dishes and books and replied, "What?" He just shrugged and went back to sorting through his side of the garage. Irritated with Mr. Not-so-Awesome and his critical eye, I kept going through boxes, sorting as I had been.
When all of the boxes had been purged I had two bags of garbage and three boxes of stuff to donate. I was feeling pretty proud of myself until I turned around and saw the mountain that was the 'Keep' pile. Realising that if I attempted to move all of this stuff into the house I would soon be a contender for the next season of Hoarders, I took a second look at the pile.
I decided it was time to stop looking at the sentiment attached to each item and look only at the functionality of the item. With this new perspective in mind I sliced through the pile again in no time. I was able to cut the 'Keep' items down by almost two thirds. Yay me!
Saved from Hoarders...for now, at least!
There's something about seeing someone else's disaster that makes me feel SOOOO much better about the condition of my house. I can sit back in my messy living room, strewn with dirty socks, half finished crafts and Lego and feel okay with it. I mean really, at least I don't have 912 bobbled head dolls and 17 years worth of newspapers stacked amongst animal droppings and rotting food. Right?
But as I watch the show I wonder, how does it start? You don't all of a sudden wake up one day and find your house full of stray cats, weird collectables and garabge, do you?It has to start somewhere, right? Well, yesterday I had a revelation...this is how it starts.
Since we moved a little more than two months ago our garage has been full of boxes. All of the odds and ends of our life stacked in mislabelled boxes waiting to be sorted and put away. After scraping ice off the van windows a couple of times last week I decided that the garage had to be done pronto. Mr. Awesome had the day off work so we tackled the mess in the garage. I started sorting through boxes, presumably throwing away junk and donating things we no longer need.
About halfway through the clean up Mr. Awesome looked at the 'Keep' stack beside the door and asked, "Seriously?" I glanced over at the teetering pile of keepsakes, dishes and books and replied, "What?" He just shrugged and went back to sorting through his side of the garage. Irritated with Mr. Not-so-Awesome and his critical eye, I kept going through boxes, sorting as I had been.
When all of the boxes had been purged I had two bags of garbage and three boxes of stuff to donate. I was feeling pretty proud of myself until I turned around and saw the mountain that was the 'Keep' pile. Realising that if I attempted to move all of this stuff into the house I would soon be a contender for the next season of Hoarders, I took a second look at the pile.
I decided it was time to stop looking at the sentiment attached to each item and look only at the functionality of the item. With this new perspective in mind I sliced through the pile again in no time. I was able to cut the 'Keep' items down by almost two thirds. Yay me!
Saved from Hoarders...for now, at least!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Hitting the Community Jackpot
Moving to a new community is like placing all your chips on one number and giving the wheel a spin. You might luck out and win big time or you might strike out and lose everything but more often than not you end up near the winning number and break even.
In our previous neighborhood we had some really good neighbors, a few tolerable neighbors and one or two neighbors that made us crazy. We broke even. When we moved here we spent nearly as much time looking at the neighborhood, the neighbors' houses and yards and repeatedly asking our realtor what he knew about the area as we did looking at the houses for sale. We wanted to get a sense of the people who would be living beside us before we made our decision. But all of our stalker like research didn't garner us very much information so in the end we do what most home buyers do...we pick our number, make our bet and cross our fingers.
This time it looks like we hit the jackpot!
We have been getting to know our neighbors little by little over the past couple of months but yesterday evening we were invited to a bonfire with several of our neighbors. We happily accepted and arrived with our troop at the appointed time. I knew who had been invited and was looking forward to connecting with everyone again but sitting around the fire, with the kids running in and out of yard in the setting sun I had a moment of unexpected bliss.
To look at the dozen or so people sitting around the fire last night you might scratch your head and wonder what this group would have in common. There were grandparents, empty-nesters, stay at home moms, working dads all with very diverse backgrounds and life experiences. When we first arrived I was a little unsure of how things would progress but my apprehension barely had time to form before I was engaged in a fantastic conversation with someone, who on the surface, couldn't be more different than myself. And that was the trend of the evening, it didn't matter who I spoke with, we very quickly and easily found common ground or took a genuine interest in the differences we had. Never once did I experience a moment where the conversation lagged or seemed awkward.
Call it luck, call it small town charm...I don't really care. This is my neighborhood, these are my people and I love it.
In our previous neighborhood we had some really good neighbors, a few tolerable neighbors and one or two neighbors that made us crazy. We broke even. When we moved here we spent nearly as much time looking at the neighborhood, the neighbors' houses and yards and repeatedly asking our realtor what he knew about the area as we did looking at the houses for sale. We wanted to get a sense of the people who would be living beside us before we made our decision. But all of our stalker like research didn't garner us very much information so in the end we do what most home buyers do...we pick our number, make our bet and cross our fingers.
This time it looks like we hit the jackpot!
We have been getting to know our neighbors little by little over the past couple of months but yesterday evening we were invited to a bonfire with several of our neighbors. We happily accepted and arrived with our troop at the appointed time. I knew who had been invited and was looking forward to connecting with everyone again but sitting around the fire, with the kids running in and out of yard in the setting sun I had a moment of unexpected bliss.
To look at the dozen or so people sitting around the fire last night you might scratch your head and wonder what this group would have in common. There were grandparents, empty-nesters, stay at home moms, working dads all with very diverse backgrounds and life experiences. When we first arrived I was a little unsure of how things would progress but my apprehension barely had time to form before I was engaged in a fantastic conversation with someone, who on the surface, couldn't be more different than myself. And that was the trend of the evening, it didn't matter who I spoke with, we very quickly and easily found common ground or took a genuine interest in the differences we had. Never once did I experience a moment where the conversation lagged or seemed awkward.
Call it luck, call it small town charm...I don't really care. This is my neighborhood, these are my people and I love it.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the PAC
Well, it actually happened at the PAC.
Before I get into that, let me start off by saying I am not a joiner. At least not by nature. I don't generally like meeting new people. Its not them, its me...seriously. Before I have to go to a new place or meet new people I get all sweaty, red-faced, nervous and awkward. I feel like I stutter and then I inevitably start to, what would be in a daintier person, nervously giggle but with me in just comes out as a big dorky guffaw.
But in the interest of settling in and getting to know people in my new town I set aside my 'no joiner' policy and went out to the Parent Advisory Committee meetings at both the elementary school and the middle school.
September meetings went well. I mostly sat back and watched. I asked a few questions but managed to escape both meetings unscathed and uncommitted. October did not go so well.
At the elementary school I ended up getting myself on a two person committee to revamp the playground and create an outdoor classroom. No big deal but I as I walked into the middle school for their PAC meeting last night I told myself, "No talking at the PAC!"
Well, that lasted all of five minutes! Unbeknownst to me it was elections night. As the discussion turned to electing a new executive it became clear that there were not enough parents willing to sign up and that PAC was in danger of being dissolved. I was irritated that parents are eager to stand at a hockey rink for hours every week to watch their kids compete in sports but were not willing to give up one hour a month to be involved in their children's education.
Minutes after that came flying out of my mouth I was named the new co-chair of the PAC.
Huh? Note to self: must remain quiet...with great gabbing comes great responsibility.
Before I get into that, let me start off by saying I am not a joiner. At least not by nature. I don't generally like meeting new people. Its not them, its me...seriously. Before I have to go to a new place or meet new people I get all sweaty, red-faced, nervous and awkward. I feel like I stutter and then I inevitably start to, what would be in a daintier person, nervously giggle but with me in just comes out as a big dorky guffaw.
But in the interest of settling in and getting to know people in my new town I set aside my 'no joiner' policy and went out to the Parent Advisory Committee meetings at both the elementary school and the middle school.
September meetings went well. I mostly sat back and watched. I asked a few questions but managed to escape both meetings unscathed and uncommitted. October did not go so well.
At the elementary school I ended up getting myself on a two person committee to revamp the playground and create an outdoor classroom. No big deal but I as I walked into the middle school for their PAC meeting last night I told myself, "No talking at the PAC!"
Well, that lasted all of five minutes! Unbeknownst to me it was elections night. As the discussion turned to electing a new executive it became clear that there were not enough parents willing to sign up and that PAC was in danger of being dissolved. I was irritated that parents are eager to stand at a hockey rink for hours every week to watch their kids compete in sports but were not willing to give up one hour a month to be involved in their children's education.
Minutes after that came flying out of my mouth I was named the new co-chair of the PAC.
Huh? Note to self: must remain quiet...with great gabbing comes great responsibility.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Day Dinner Fought Back
Tonight's blog is sponsored by Boundary Trails Health Centre.
My well planned, much anticipated Aussie Meat Pie dinner turned into a two hour trip to the ER. Through a bizarre fluke accident that was in no way my fault I splattered searing hot EVOO (Rachel Ray speak for olive oil) all over the place...including halfway up my arm.
While I ran cold water over my rapidly swelling limb I read out the rest of the recipe to Mr. Awesome, who in all of his awesome splendor pitched in like a champ. I wrapped my arm in a bag of frozen peas and sat down with The Fam to enjoy this yummy yet somewhat dangerous meal.
The decision to go to the hospital came when an hour after the event my arm still felt like it was on fire and bits of skin were beginning to bubble up and turn white.
We loaded up the kids and headed out to the middle of nowhere to the hospital that our town shares with the next town over. After the clerk gets a chuckle out of my 'amateurs should stay out of the kitchen' routine I get to see the doctor. And in true small town fashion it turns out the doctor grew up in the house we now own. He spent as much time chatting about his great memories in that house as he did discussing my arm, which by the way is a first degree burn.
So that's what happened the day dinner fought back.
My well planned, much anticipated Aussie Meat Pie dinner turned into a two hour trip to the ER. Through a bizarre fluke accident that was in no way my fault I splattered searing hot EVOO (Rachel Ray speak for olive oil) all over the place...including halfway up my arm.
While I ran cold water over my rapidly swelling limb I read out the rest of the recipe to Mr. Awesome, who in all of his awesome splendor pitched in like a champ. I wrapped my arm in a bag of frozen peas and sat down with The Fam to enjoy this yummy yet somewhat dangerous meal.
The decision to go to the hospital came when an hour after the event my arm still felt like it was on fire and bits of skin were beginning to bubble up and turn white.
We loaded up the kids and headed out to the middle of nowhere to the hospital that our town shares with the next town over. After the clerk gets a chuckle out of my 'amateurs should stay out of the kitchen' routine I get to see the doctor. And in true small town fashion it turns out the doctor grew up in the house we now own. He spent as much time chatting about his great memories in that house as he did discussing my arm, which by the way is a first degree burn.
So that's what happened the day dinner fought back.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Settled like Wreckage after a Tornado
For the last week or so people have been asking me if we're all settled yet. I have answered honestly - no. While I have been enjoying domestic bliss for the past couple of weeks I have known that the storm was coming.
And today it came.
Today was transition day for Mischief and Crafty. Its the day when you take your offspring to school to meet the teacher, find their desks and receive enough paperwork to kill half a rain forest.
When we arrived home the kids ran inside and I stayed in the yard to pull a few weeds (I know...me gardening?) and set up my scarecrows. When I entered the house I knew that we had suddenly settled in.
I literally could not get in the front door for all the backpacks, shoes, sweaters and papers that were trailing through the front entry, living room, dining room and kitchen. In the short twenty minutes I was outside juice boxes had exploded on the kitchen table, dress up clothes were oozing out of Mischiefs room and down the hall and a Lego battle was taking place up the basement stairs.
I stepped over the chaos and sank into the only chair in the living room, surveyed the mess and sighed.
Yes, we are now settled...like wreckage after a tornado.
And today it came.
Today was transition day for Mischief and Crafty. Its the day when you take your offspring to school to meet the teacher, find their desks and receive enough paperwork to kill half a rain forest.
When we arrived home the kids ran inside and I stayed in the yard to pull a few weeds (I know...me gardening?) and set up my scarecrows. When I entered the house I knew that we had suddenly settled in.
I literally could not get in the front door for all the backpacks, shoes, sweaters and papers that were trailing through the front entry, living room, dining room and kitchen. In the short twenty minutes I was outside juice boxes had exploded on the kitchen table, dress up clothes were oozing out of Mischiefs room and down the hall and a Lego battle was taking place up the basement stairs.
I stepped over the chaos and sank into the only chair in the living room, surveyed the mess and sighed.
Yes, we are now settled...like wreckage after a tornado.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
What's a Goddess to Do?
Still soaring from my triumph of domestic bliss yesterday I awoke this morning with a plan. I will hunt and gather, fill my storehouse, meet the needs of my young...you know...grocery shop. I planned to take a drive to the 'big' town ten minutes up the road to hit the Walmart and Superstore but Dude is having an off day so I thought a quick trip to the small store in town would be better.
I entered the store, list in hand, full of optimism. Its a quaint small town store with local produce and the smell of fresh bread greeting you as you enter. I was charmed...until I glanced at my list and saw that ten nearly bare aisles were not going to cut it.
Apparently the store had not recovered from all the extra shoppers that the town festival had brought in this past weekend but the clerk assured me that the shelves would be restocked by Thursday. THURSDAY?! I took a deep breath, remembered that I am now a domestic goddess and scaled down the list to just the essentials but the store still comes up short.
So what's a girl to do when the only grocery store in town is out of stock of nearly everything? She heads to the discount store near the railway tracks.
In the city I had only entered this kind of store once and thought it was a dodgy kind of place but apparently small town charm even works on a store that sells rubber boots, yogurt and toilet paper all in the same aisle.
I braved the discount store, found everything on the list and remain a domestic goddess...at least for one more day.
I entered the store, list in hand, full of optimism. Its a quaint small town store with local produce and the smell of fresh bread greeting you as you enter. I was charmed...until I glanced at my list and saw that ten nearly bare aisles were not going to cut it.
Apparently the store had not recovered from all the extra shoppers that the town festival had brought in this past weekend but the clerk assured me that the shelves would be restocked by Thursday. THURSDAY?! I took a deep breath, remembered that I am now a domestic goddess and scaled down the list to just the essentials but the store still comes up short.
So what's a girl to do when the only grocery store in town is out of stock of nearly everything? She heads to the discount store near the railway tracks.
In the city I had only entered this kind of store once and thought it was a dodgy kind of place but apparently small town charm even works on a store that sells rubber boots, yogurt and toilet paper all in the same aisle.
I braved the discount store, found everything on the list and remain a domestic goddess...at least for one more day.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Domestic Goddess?
So 18 days ago we packed our bags and headed south. Well, we didn't pack our bags...the moving company packed our bags. If I had packed our bags Mischief would have more than one pair of shoes to his name and I would know where the power cords to most of our electronics were...but that's a rant for another day.
Anyway...here we are in rural Manitoba. The Land of Corn and Apples (or so says the gigantic sign just outside town). So what's a city girl to do in a town of 6,000 people and no Starbucks? Apparently she becomes domestic.
For the first time in more than 13 years of marriage and 10 years of parenthood I have consistently kept the house clean, laundry done and home cooked every meal. Granted not knowing a soul in town, having no take out restaurants and not unpacking most of our belongings has aided in this state of domestic bliss...but here we are just the same. Clean clothes, full bellies and not a speck of clutter in sight.
Anyway...here we are in rural Manitoba. The Land of Corn and Apples (or so says the gigantic sign just outside town). So what's a city girl to do in a town of 6,000 people and no Starbucks? Apparently she becomes domestic.
For the first time in more than 13 years of marriage and 10 years of parenthood I have consistently kept the house clean, laundry done and home cooked every meal. Granted not knowing a soul in town, having no take out restaurants and not unpacking most of our belongings has aided in this state of domestic bliss...but here we are just the same. Clean clothes, full bellies and not a speck of clutter in sight.
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