The Plan, Updated

Well, the house is a lot cleaner.

I was up at 5:30, and I worked like a man possessed by the knowledge that this would be the only the week all year when he could clean, email, and errandize without a two year old actively making new messes in his wake. ("Ooh Daddy, I knocked that over!")

This is the sort of stuff I did today--we had a crock pot that was given to us as a wedding present, and it sat in J's closet for seven years. (We had another, lesser crock pot.) When we became a three-person-solid food-family we decided to get the nice wedding crock pot out of storage. We used it once and enjoyed a delicious roast. Then J washed it, dried it, and put it away in the pantry. (Or, the "pankry" as James calls it. As in "the yakum cleaner needs to go back in the pankry, Daddy.")

Anyway, the next time J went into the pankry she found that the glass cover to the once-used crock pot had shattered. We guessed that there must have been enough moisture left that it created a seal with the temperature fluctuation, and the pressure burst the glass. Either that or a wizard put a curse on it. Either explanation would be perfectly valid. J, being pregnant, left the dangerous glassy mess for me to pick up. I did not clean up the mess, because my interactions with the pankry are limited to 1) getting crackers out 2) getting beer out, or 3) taking the recycling down to the garage doors. (Actually I take it down to the recycling bin, but that's not why James comes with me.)

So the crock pot sat with a burst glass lid inside of it for about a month while neither of us cleaned it up. But today, since James wasn't here, I could clean up the glass mess. I was very careful and didn't cut myself at all. I got all the glass into the trash can, cleaned the ceramic crock out in the sink, dug through our file box and found the owner's manual, found the warranty, looked up the model number, and emailed the company. (They emailed back an hour later saying that our model had been discontinued and they no longer provided replacement parts.)

But the point is that I got that job done. That sort of thing would be impossible with James around. He would need to read a George, or to go outside and mow, or to tell me about how George wanted to watch the tractor mow, or about how the tractor thought George was funny. I worked with no interruptions. I had Beethoven on in the background. It was glorious.

I sorted through the rest of the pankry and tossed out old Halloween candy and bags of cereal that had been left 90% finished for months. I washed all of the dirty dishes. I sorted the tupperware cabinet. I sorted the mail tray and paid all the bills. I dusted the tops of the cabinets. I wiped out the microwave and the top of the stove. (There was a lot of grease, and I have no idea where it all came from.) I cleaned out the fridge and threw away old bottles of salad dressing that expired before James was born. I put all the measuring cups in one kitchen drawer.

It was hard to keep up with myself, actually. I had that huge three page list to live up to, and there was so much to do that I ended up tripping over myself. For example, I recently got an updated license. It's very official looking, and it even has my current address on it, not to mention a little heart signifying that I am an organ donor, and hence, a person of high moral excellence. I had put my old license in the little basket where we drop our keys and wallets as we go in and out. (Really it's full of old hairclips and necklaces, but theoretically it should be for keys and wallets.) I knew that I should take my old license down to the storage unit and put it in the box where I keep old documents that might be a federal crime to throw away. (For example, this is where I keep my expired insurance cards and my college ID)

I figured I'd take my old license down to the storage unit when I took the third load of trash out. (I threw away a LOT of trash today.) I put it in my pocket, and I even put it in the same pocket as my keys so I would remember it was there when I pulled out my keys to come back in from the garage.

I came back upstairs without going to the storage unit.

So I took a load of laundry downstairs, and figured I'd have to go into the storage unit anyway to get the detergent. Which I did. But without putting the old license away.

"Okay," I said to myself as I realized that the license was still in my pocket "I'm going to go downstairs again to put away this stack of music that I don't need, and THIS time I will remember to put away my license."

And that time I remembered to put away the music and the license. But when I got back to the top of the stairs I couldn't remember whether I'd actually turned the washing machines on or not, so I had to go back down and check. When I get old, I may be in really tough shape.

I put away all the candles (of which we have LOTS) that were out in the kitchen. I cleaned out the toaster. I put away the stack of Julie's music that had been on the clav. I sorted James' toys. I put away all of my books that were lying around in piles. I dusted the tops of the shelves. I sent a bunch of emails. I called a mortgage specialist. I refilled our laundry card. I went to the bank. I went to the library. I went to the liquor store and bought a bottle of wine as a present. I went to the craft store and bought a frame. I went to the grocery store and got some food for the week. I flipped six loads of laundry and then folded them all. I practiced for an hour and a half. I went for a run. I vacuumed the whole house. I mopped the kitchen floor. I scrubbed the bathroom.

And still, there's more on the list. Some of the projects have been fun. I bought magnets as a possible solution to the "beer cap" problem, and discovered that magnets do not stick to mirrors. (That makes no sense, since they both start with the letter M.) Magnets do, however, stick to other magnets that are on the other side of the mirror.

Tomorrow I'll have more to tackle. I'm going to try to sort the endless piles of my music that are currently in the storage unit. I'm going to clean James' wagon. I'm going to clean my trumpets, and I may even yet write that curriculum map. (Kind of doubtful, though.)

And do you know what I think, at the end of the Most Productive Day of All Time?

I miss James. I miss him making a mess and doing his own thing completely single-mindedly and being a two year old boy. Apparently there's a tent at the lake house where he's staying, and he's set up inside of it with Deedee and Oo-Ah and every wordly possession he holds dear, which apparently includes the Mancala marbles. I would so much rather be with him and with J.

Phooey.