Life is full of surprises.
Just the other day a completely unexpected and foreign thought burst into my barely conscious brain as I was waking up.
Usually in the morning, it takes some time for my jumbled thoughts to re-connect and form my itinerary for the day. But on this particular morning, I sat bolt upright, startled by my reaction as my mind shaped its unlikely plan.
“Yes!” my semi-awake consciousness excitedly exclaimed. But then, as if in a dream – or perhaps a nightmare – the excited thought continued with, “I get to clean the house today!”
To say I was shocked by this revelation is an understatement; in the early morning when my thoughts are at their purest and flow without any interference from conscious rational thought, how odd that I was actually excited to clean the house.
Perhaps it’s a result of my unrequited desire for order which is hopelessly mismatched with the amount of time I have to achieve any semblance of it.
Being cursed, instead of buoyed by an idealistic house cleaning ethic, there is instilled in me is an unrealistic goal that I can never hope to achieve. Attaining the goal is similar to training my dog to play the piano; it’s simply never going to happen. I’ve actually tried and failed at one of these tasks – I’ll let you guess which one – and I’m pretty sure there is no hope for either in the future.
In fact, my dog evolving overnight into a sub-species with opposing thumbs (and a keen ear for Mozart) is about as likely as me catching up on housework.
I really enjoy the constant activity of parenthood, but was more than a little taken aback to experience unabashed excitement over the realization that I actually had time to get some cleaning done.
Also surprising is my reaction to the ground thawing this spring. I become barely recognizable and excited when anticipating the time when I will be able to dig a hole large enough to submerge a garbage can at the back of our yard. The source of my excitement? Dog waste. No kidding.
In my family’s ongoing effort to minimize our garbage output, and my (according to my husband, somewhat obsessive), year round composting efforts, I have recently learned of an excellent way to deal with dog waste. How odd – and frankly, somewhat worrisome – that I can say, without a hint of sarcasm, I am really very excited about this.
By following simple directions, I’m going to make a composter exclusively for my dog, Dingo’s doo doo. I am delighted to have learned of a safe and sensible alternative to disposing of the contents of, and greatly reducing the number of bags, – which pardon me for saying, is crap to suggest they’re biodegradable – that go into the trash.
Similar to my shock and disbelief at waking up excited to clean the house, another surprise actually provided me with a small glimmer of hope for my organizational abilities.
I constantly misplace my keys – I have such good intentions to put them in a consistent location where I will easily find them, but the only consistency is that it slips my mind at the only time it matters, which is immediately after I come in the door.
Recently, after an unusually long and frustrating search, I found my keys in the unlikeliest of places. Although it wasn’t odd for them to be in my coat pocket, I could hardly believe that the coat had make to and was actually…hung up in the closet.