100 and Counting

I got a sort of pep talk from my boss today. Work has been annoying lately, and he was attempting to figure out a few ways for me to put things into perspective. Incidentally, I’d talk more about what I do, but then I’d have to track you all down and kill you, and I frankly don’t have time for that. Anyway, “Leo” is my boss but also someone I consider a friend, so I know he was just trying to be helpful when he put forth this tip: when you feel like you have a million things to do, write everything down, and you’ll discover you actually only have about 100, split into three categories — needs immediate attention, can wait, and long-term goals. I think he was quite convinced that writing this list would make me feel much better. He really was trying to help, and indeed came up with other, more fitting exercises. But this one was not one of them.

I thought, briefly, of trying to make the list, but I already knew that: 1) it would take a really, really long time, and 2) it could potentially have the opposite affect that was intended. Rather than make me feel like, “Hey, I only have 100 things on my list. And only 30 need to get done today!” I might end up with, “Jesus Christ! I forgot about that! And what about. . . oh man, we better get that taken care of right away. Okay everybody, move, move, move!!!” Which everyone would love, I’m sure, because I don’t do enough yelling like that already.

So rather than waste time making a list, I did a little experiment and started counting things as I went along. I didn’t make it out of the kids’ bedroom/bathroom area before I cracked 25.

If I use an average of 25 jobs per area and only count the heavy hitters from there — master bedroom, kitchen, family room, toy room, office, laundry room, garage, and yard work — that brings the list immediately to 225. Then there’s keeping up my facade as supermom at the kids’ school, maintaining enough contact with friends and family members so as not to be considered a complete asshole, and decorating for holidays so I won’t be thrown out of suburbia. This is, of course, on top of making sure everyone is fed, clothed, relatively clean, and reasonably happy.

And I haven’t even cracked open work, yet.

I have to say here that Leo has an incredibly demanding job that keeps him working almost non-stop. He may take a break when he sleeps because there’s a good possibility he doesn’t always dream about work — I can’t say that for sure. But he’s also a single guy who rents. So he most definitely didn’t spend any of his Saturday washing puke rags that were used during the middle of the night when Elfie threw up in the hall. Or picking up library books about the Pony Express and reading three of them out loud in an attempt to get Newt excited about a report he needs to do. Or cleaning uneaten cricket wings out of the pet praying mantis’ cage.

So, no, my list doesn’t come close to one million. However, it’s also nowhere near one hundred. But I suppose it’s kind of like the national debt — once it gets over a certain amount, does it really matter? At some point, you just come to live with the boxes that have never been unpacked in your garage, and the guilt from never writing the thank-you notes for the flowers from your mother’s memorial, and the children whose hair could use a washing and whose fingernails are getting a little too long. Otherwise, you don’t get to write your blog. And then you go really, really bonkers.