Short story: I almost peed my pants, so I cleaned out the junk drawer.

Long story: I have been slow to put up the Christmas decorations the past two weeks. An ornament here, a flattened, misshapen wreath there. It’s been a process. The other day I decided to set up my meager, two house Christmas tree village made of lit cardboard and realized the church with the bent tree needed new batteries. So, I went to get batteries. Tell me if you’ve done this before.

I walked into the kitchen and realized I needed to use the restroom. Yes, occasionally I’m seven years old and the obvious, like bodily functions, escapes me. I don’t even know.

The point is, I walked into the kitchen, the kitchen with an adjacent bathroom, and decided it was of paramount importance for me to replace the dead batteries in a cardboard church I’ve ignored for two weeks. Then I could go to the bathroom. I don’t even know.

I mean, I just don’t even know! I guess I thought I was shaving .0025 seconds off my time (what time?) and somehow that was going to make a difference in my day. With .0025 extra seconds in my day, imagine how many times I can, I don’t know, brush my bangs off my forehead. Wonder why mascara makes my eyes burn. Check email.

I walked towards my junk drawer with confidence.

No matter. I knew they were in there; it would take just one quick second (about as long as a tinkle!) to find three AAA batteries.

One minute later, meters of stitch witchery (?) flew through the air like parade tickets and I was absolutely, positively doing the pee-pee dance. But, since I was “in it to win it,” there was no backing down. I rummaged and rummaged and rummaged some more until I found those batteries. And then I grabbed my very favorite case of super small screw drivers and unscrewed the super small screw on the cardboard church and replaced the three batteries. And when the screw fell and got lost in a pile of orchid supplies (?) I rummaged some more until I found it put back together my cardboard church. Then I turned it on to make sure it worked.

I still don’t even know.

There was no way my bladder would survive me cleaning out that junk drawer. No amount of kegel exercises could have helped. I acted my age and used the restroom.

Afterwards, I pulled everything out of the drawer, vacuumed it, tossed out many random things, and put the batteries in an old container, front and center.

When I think of all the batteries I can change on the fly while my pelvic floor vibrates in anger, I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. That much I know.

William Morris: The Junk Drawer is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries

William Morris: The Junk Drawer is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries

I like what Alice said about social hangovers in the comment section the other day. That is the best way to describe Monday and Tuesday of this week. I’ve been to conferences before, but they were for healthcare or law. I sat down, took notes, and made sure someone logged my continuing education units. This time was different. I had to mingle.

On Monday and Tuesday I made my bed…and that’s about it. The rest of the house was in the same whirlwind it was when I left. I usually leave the house somewhat neat, maybe have a meal or two ready for when we get home, but not this time. Between getting sick and having a nervous breakdown, the hot zones stayed hot.

Palm Springs hot.

On Wednesday I woke up with resolve. I went to the library and picked up more books. I made chicken stock out of Monday’s leftover roasted chicken. I went to the store (and forgot the two items I went in to buy). Then I made beef stew (but forgot to use the chicken stock I made). I went to Mikey’s final soccer practice (but forgot to bring his water). Looking back, the day was hit and miss. It could be residual post socializing stress disorder or it could be exhaustion, because in between the library, store, stock, dinner, and practice, I managed to tackle those hot zones.

Cool as cucumbers, they are.

I have been reading some great books on simple living, slowing down, and practicing self care. Everything I don’t do well, in other words. Everything most of us don’t do well. I’m waiting for the day we realize we don’t have to do it all, that it’s okay to need a break. The world won’t end if we set our phones down for a minute, maybe two. I don’t need to check my email every 10 seconds and I can let the phone ring. (In theory.)

I should have made Monday and Tuesday recuperative days. No blogging, no cleaning, no school meetings, or soccer projects. I needed two days to rest and unwind, but instead I attempted all four of the above with little success. There is a reason the Mister’s work related trips usually end on Fridays. Come to think of it, my old work conferences did, too. Conference organizers know attendees need a couple of days to decompress.

It’s okay to be human. What’s more, I bet if I had allowed myself the luxury of two days rest I would have done more than make the bed. Sometimes the only rest we need is the permission to do so.

The Cure for a Social Hangover is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries

The Cure for a Social Hangover is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries

Should I toss them? Keep them? For how long? Do I keep just the special ones? (Isn’t every birthday/anniversary/holiday with family special?) This is the sort of thing that makes me wish really hard for that house gnome. He would know what to do.

What do you do with your cards after the party is over?

The Party Is Over… is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries

The Party Is Over… is a post from: Pancakes and French Fries