Getting Ahead Of The Game

(Nancy Moser, who lives just ten minutes away from Katy, is today’s guest blogger on fallible. Nancy is also Katy’s dear, dear friend.)

As the year changed over, I vowed that this would be the year I would get ahead of the game—whatever that game might be.

I was tired of procrastinating. I was tired of feeling the pressure of should-dos. I was tried of being tired. So . . . my solution was to be a female Boy Scout, and be prepared. Ahead of time. A little at a time.

The first test occurred during the first week as I made preparations for a small, annual writer’s retreat at my home. The need to be domestic and clean and cook assailed me. Unfortunately, neither attribute is one of my attributes, unless I’m in the mood, and I’ve long ago realized those moods can easily leapfrog months. Or years.

But this year, with my new resolution in tow, I vowed that I would get ahead of the game and get the entire thing under control. D-day (done-day) was Thursday, when the first author would arrive.

Sunday: New Year’s Day. The day of all things good and new and unattainable. I psyched myself to do it right this year.

However, as the day wore on and I hadn’t actually done anything beyond think about doing something, I ended up feeling very much like Scarlett O’Hara: I’ll do it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow was Monday. Always a good day to start things—like a new life based on organization, cleanliness, godliness, and all other capital-V virtues.

Monday: I looked at my to-do list and divided the house into battle zones: basement, main floor, top floor. It mentally helped. A little. I remembered in the past, drawing squares in the carpet of my kids’ bedrooms with a finger, telling them to “clean up this square” in an attempt to make the chaos seem more manageable to them (only recently did my twenty-something kids tell me they merely used to move everything to the next square.) This could have been a helpful memory until I realized the first floor of my house is mostly wood and Magic Marker squares wouldn’t be a good idea.

I did collect dirty dishes from all three floors and filled the dishwasher.

I forgot to turn it on.

Tuesday: Feeling guilty for yesterday, I used the early morning hours to go through cookbooks, make a menu, and write a grocery list. Feeling extremely fruitful, I even recopied the list according to sections in the grocery store: Produce, Dairy, and the Fat-Sugar-Chemical aisle. Knowing this was above and beyond any “getting ahead of the game” scenario I ever aspired to, I decided I deserved my own show on HGTV. I felt smug and done for the day.

However, when my home-from-college daughter informed me she expected me to stock her up before she headed back to school, I was shoved into actually
getting into the car and buying the groceries. It took two carts. As we pulled into the garage and I realized there was no dear-hubby present to help unload, I considered claiming a bad back. Never mind. It turned out to be easier to just buck it up and do it.

Then a miracle happened. Because Daughter and I were hungry after being enticed by the food in the Fat-Sugar-Chemical aisle, I made lunch. And since that
started the beginnings of a mess, I began to cook menu items that could be frozen until the weekend. Adrenalin kicked in. Four hours later I had made sweet & sour chicken, Runzas, muffins, crumb cookies, and a huge mess. I wondered if Merry Maids had a 911 number because Daughter had conveniently gone out with friends.

I cleaned up and collapsed on the couch. I fell asleep to Law & Order reruns.

Wednesday: The basement beckoned. As I vacuumed, I noticed the path in the carpet that the cats had made to their Poo-Room. How dare they? I decided to force them into a new path by pulling out a bar stool two inches, relocating a potted plant, and moving a footstool in the direct line of their padding little feet. I took a break and waited for a cat to run the gauntlet. They did, and I felt momentarily victorious, until I realized a new path would be pressed into the carpet.

I also realized, as I vacuumed the stairway, that the felines were not the only guilty party. Looking down upon my work, I saw my own footprints in the plush. Because there was no solution, and because my back hurt, I retired to the couch and watched Law & Order reruns.

Thursday-D-Day: I wallowed in the fact the wood floor could not leave track marks like the carpet, but grieved that it did promote dust bunnies. I did my best rounding them up before proceeding to the second floor where bathrooms and the need for clean sheets beckoned. I momentarily tried to remember who’d slept in the guest room last to determine if they might be deemed “clean enough” for the new guest. I tossed the horrid notion of leaving the sheets as is, pretending they were fresh (which would surely come back to bite me) and made my mother proud by making everything fresh and new—including hospital corners.

While cleaning a tub I ran out of foaming bath cleaner and was forced to resort to elbow grease. I reminded myself that I’d wanted to try one of those fancy, disposable, toilet cleaner doo-hickeys. Too late now.

It was nearly time to leave for the airport. I was sweaty and wanted a nap. If I ignored the need for makeup, I could probably slip in ten minutes of rest. I closed my eyes (to afternoon Law & Order reruns) and was nearly asleep when a kitty jumped on my chest. No wonder the carpet showed marks.

From my position on the couch I noticed the entry light had cobwebs. The cat jumped to safety as I stood to take care of it.

And the windows needed washing . . .

Hopefully, no one would be tempted to look through them.

And my roots needed touching up . . .

If I combed my hair just right or wore a hat . . .

I left for the airport (I was out of gas and had to stop and fill up) and the weekend began. The house was filled with writer friends, who brought their coats, suitcases, and laptops, which made me realize no one was looking at the house anyway. We were too busy talking and being.

The fellowship was awesome, the food edible, and the time flew. As they left until next year, I vowed to add something to my “get ahead of the game” scenario: don’t worry so much about anything because my friends don’t care about kitty tracks, they accept whatever level of scrubbed tub I can manage, and they’d settle for McDonald’s if that’s what I wanted to serve.

They love me and I love them and our time together is what’s important. Knowing that is truly getting ahead of the game.

Nancy Moser is the author of thirteen novels including “The Sister Circle” and “Time Lottery.” Her newest book is “Crossroads.”

Check out her websites at www.nancymoser.com and www.sistercircles.com.

Posted by Katy on 01/12/06 at 01:10 PM

Fallible Comments...

Oh, how I can relate to the house cleaning or the lack of. I'm trying to convince myself to get off my computer long enough to get my living environment worthy of my presence, but alas, I'm still on my computer and my environment is snubbing its nose at me. ;)

I'm sure my friends could care less about how clean my home is, just as yours, they will love me anyway and just enjoy the time we share.

It was a great read, thanks for sharing.
Posted by Gloria on 01/12/06 at 04:52 PM
Having been a guest at said retreat, I can vouch that Nancy's house was tidy and homey and welcoming, and I'm quite sure the sheets I slept on came straight from the linen closet (but oh, did it ever do my heart good to know that others have been tempted to pass off used-only-once guest room sheets as fresh! LOL!)

You are so right that people never care what your house looks like if you've made them feel treasured and welcome - which you are a master at, Nancy.

Great column!
Posted by Deb Raney on 01/12/06 at 05:29 PM
I remember arriving at Nancy's house one day to find her in a flurry with her Oreck! I said, "You don't need to vacuum for ME," and she said, "I'm not. I'm being interviewed this afternoon for my new book and they're bringing cameras!"

I'm telling you, Nancy has got her priorities in order! :)
Posted by Katy on 01/12/06 at 05:52 PM
Nancy,
enjoyed this bit of yours about housecleaning and guests and procrastination. Have continued to kick myself for not purchasing a little sign I saw once that summed me up quite nicely: "My idea of housework is sweeping the room with a glance."

Thanks for the smiles.
Posted by susan on 01/12/06 at 08:19 PM
Sounds like a lovely time.
Posted by Liz on 01/13/06 at 12:36 AM
Ahhhhhh . . . how normal you make me feel :)
Posted by Ame on 01/13/06 at 10:48 PM
Not very normal i think...;-)
Posted by Marco on 12/26/08 at 11:27 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Getting Ahead Of The Game (Nancy Moser, who lives just ten minutes away from Katy, is today’s guest blogger on fallible. Nancy is also Katy’s dear, dear friend.) As the year changed over, I vowed that this would be the year I would get ahead of the game—whatever that game might be. I was tired of procrastinating. I was tired of feeling the pressure of should-dos. I was tried of being tired. So . . . my solution was to be a female Boy Scout, and be prepared. Ahead of time. A little at a time. The first test occurred during the first week as I made preparations for a small, annual writer’s retreat at my home. The need to be domestic and clean and cook assailed me. Unfortunately, neither attribute is one of my attributes, unless I’m in the mood, and I’ve long ago realized those moods can easily leapfrog months. Or years. But this year, with my new resolution in tow, I vowed that I would get ahead of the game and get the entire thing under control. D-day (done-day) was Thursday, when the first author would arrive. Sunday: New Year’s Day. The day of all things good and new and unattainable. I psyched myself to do it right this year. However, as the day wore on and I hadn’t actually done anything beyond think about doing something, I ended up feeling very much like Scarlett O’Hara: I’ll do it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow was Monday. Always a good day to start things—like a new life based on organization, cleanliness, godliness, and all other capital-V virtues. Monday: I looked at my to-do list and divided the house into battle zones: basement, main floor, top floor. It mentally helped. A little. I remembered in the past, drawing squares in the carpet of my kids’ bedrooms with a finger, telling them to “clean up this square” in an attempt to make the chaos seem more manageable to them (only recently did my twenty-something kids tell me they merely used to move everything to the next square.) This could have been a helpful memory until I realized the first floor of my house is mostly wood and Magic Marker squares wouldn’t be a good idea. I did collect dirty dishes from all three floors and filled the dishwasher. I forgot to turn it on. Tuesday: Feeling guilty for yesterday, I used the early morning hours to go through cookbooks, make a menu, and write a grocery list. Feeling extremely fruitful, I even recopied the list according to sections in the grocery store: Produce, Dairy, and the Fat-Sugar-Chemical aisle. Knowing this was above and beyond any “getting ahead of the game” scenario I ever aspired to, I decided I deserved my own show on HGTV. I felt smug and done for the day. However, when my home-from-college daughter informed me she expected me to stock her up before she headed back to school, I was shoved into actually getting into the car and buying the groceries. It took two carts. As we pulled into the garage and I realized there was no dear-hubby present to help unload, I considered claiming a bad back. Never mind. It turned out to be easier to just buck it up and do it. Then a miracle happened. Because Daughter and I were hungry after being enticed by the food in the Fat-Sugar-Chemical aisle, I made lunch. And since that started the beginnings of a mess, I began to cook menu items that could be frozen until the weekend. Adrenalin kicked in. Four hours later I had made sweet & sour chicken, Runzas, muffins, crumb cookies, and a huge mess. I wondered if Merry Maids had a 911 number because Daughter had conveniently gone out with friends. I cleaned up and collapsed on the couch. I fell asleep to Law & Order reruns. Wednesday: The basement beckoned. As I vacuumed, I noticed the path in the carpet that the cats had made to their Poo-Room. How dare they? I decided to force them into a new path by pulling out a bar stool two inches, relocating a potted plant, and moving a footstool in the direct line of their padding little feet. I took a break and waited for a cat to run the gauntlet. They did, and I felt momentarily victorious, until I realized a new path would be pressed into the carpet. I also realized, as I vacuumed the stairway, that the felines were not the only guilty party. Looking down upon my work, I saw my own footprints in the plush. Because there was no solution, and because my back hurt, I retired to the couch and watched Law & Order reruns. Thursday-D-Day: I wallowed in the fact the wood floor could not leave track marks like the carpet, but grieved that it did promote dust bunnies. I did my best rounding them up before proceeding to the second floor where bathrooms and the need for clean sheets beckoned. I momentarily tried to remember who’d slept in the guest room last to determine if they might be deemed “clean enough” for the new guest. I tossed the horrid notion of leaving the sheets as is, pretending they were fresh (which would surely come back to bite me) and made my mother proud by making everything fresh and new—including hospital corners. While cleaning a tub I ran out of foaming bath cleaner and was forced to resort to elbow grease. I reminded myself that I’d wanted to try one of those fancy, disposable, toilet cleaner doo-hickeys. Too late now. It was nearly time to leave for the airport. I was sweaty and wanted a nap. If I ignored the need for makeup, I could probably slip in ten minutes of rest. I closed my eyes (to afternoon Law & Order reruns) and was nearly asleep when a kitty jumped on my chest. No wonder the carpet showed marks. From my position on the couch I noticed the entry light had cobwebs. The cat jumped to safety as I stood to take care of it. And the windows needed washing . . . Hopefully, no one would be tempted to look through them. And my roots needed touching up . . . If I combed my hair just right or wore a hat . . . I left for the airport (I was out of gas and had to stop and fill up) and the weekend began. The house was filled with writer friends, who brought their coats, suitcases, and laptops, which made me realize no one was looking at the house anyway. We were too busy talking and being. The fellowship was awesome, the food edible, and the time flew. As they left until next year, I vowed to add something to my “get ahead of the game” scenario: don’t worry so much about anything because my friends don’t care about kitty tracks, they accept whatever level of scrubbed tub I can manage, and they’d settle for McDonald’s if that’s what I wanted to serve. They love me and I love them and our time together is what’s important. Knowing that is truly getting ahead of the game. Nancy Moser is the author of thirteen novels including “The Sister Circle” and “Time Lottery.” Her newest book is “Crossroads.” Check out her websites at www.nancymoser.com and www.sistercircles.com. Posted by Katy on 01/12/06 at 01:10 PM Fallible Comments... Oh, how I can relate to the house cleaning or the lack of. I'm trying to convince myself to get off my computer long enough to get my living environment worthy of my presence, but alas, I'm still on my computer and my environment is snubbing its nose at me. ;) I'm sure my friends could care less about how clean my home is, just as yours, they will love me anyway and just enjoy the time we share. It was a great read, thanks for sharing. Posted by Gloria on 01/12/06 at 04:52 PM Having been a guest at said retreat, I can vouch that Nancy's house was tidy and homey and welcoming, and I'm quite sure the sheets I slept on came straight from the linen closet (but oh, did it ever do my heart good to know that others have been tempted to pass off used-only-once guest room sheets as fresh! LOL!) You are so right that people never care what your house looks like if you've made them feel treasured and welcome - which you are a master at, Nancy. Great column! Posted by Deb Raney on 01/12/06 at 05:29 PM I remember arriving at Nancy's house one day to find her in a flurry with her Oreck! I said, "You don't need to vacuum for ME," and she said, "I'm not. I'm being interviewed this afternoon for my new book and they're bringing cameras!" I'm telling you, Nancy has got her priorities in order! :) Posted by Katy on 01/12/06 at 05:52 PM Nancy, enjoyed this bit of yours about housecleaning and guests and procrastination. Have continued to kick myself for not purchasing a little sign I saw once that summed me up quite nicely: "My idea of housework is sweeping the room with a glance." Thanks for the smiles. Posted by susan on 01/12/06 at 08:19 PM Sounds like a lovely time. Posted by Liz on 01/13/06 at 12:36 AM Ahhhhhh . . . how normal you make me feel :) Posted by Ame on 01/13/06 at 10:48 PM Not very normal i think...;-) Posted by Marco on 12/26/08 at 11:27 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. 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Getting Ahead Of The Game

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri