Friday, June 18, 2010
We have a busy weekend planned and I’m hoping that my mystical, magical powers of organization will keep us on track. If that fails, I made a list. Okay, a bunch of lists. And if the list-making fails, well, hey, I guess something is gonna get missed.
I just hope it isn’t something crucial like the main course for the 80th birthday/Father’s Day celebration on Sunday. Or my dress shoes for the out-of-town wedding we’re attending tomorrow evening. Asking people to nosh on pretzels and carrot sticks when they’re expecting baby back ribs is just plain cruel. And wearing beach flip flops with a dress, while perhaps more comfortable, isn’t exactly a polished look for a wedding.
I can usually handle events two days in a row without a whole lot of mystical, magical powers required. But when our Saturday event is out of town and requires an overnight stay and then the Sunday event is also out of town (but, unfortunately, not in the same town and about three hours away), then extra effort is required to make sure we have everything organized.
So I’ve been making lists. There is a Jane List and a Vince list. There was a Thursday night to-do list, a Friday night to-do list and a Packing List. There have been several shopping lists created, fulfilled and discarded. There is a “Don’t Forget!” note affixed to the back door to transfer something from Vince’s car to my car lest we forget to make the transfer. And I have been so obsessed with not forgetting anything that last night I kept popping up out of bed to add a “Reminder” note to my phone complete with “alarms” set to go off at regular intervals to remind me to add those items to whichever list was most appropriate.
You think I’m slightly obsessed with lists?!
On the other hand, I think it’s better to be a little “list obsessive” than to arrive at a destination without something important like, say, underwear. I suppose some people are okay with going “commando” but I’d rather have the choice.
To me, it’s frustrating to be out of town and realize that my toothbrush is still in the toothbrush holder back home. Or that I’ll have to go to bed without my Clinique moisturizer and lip balm because I didn't make a list and I've forgotten to pack them. Talk about being a bad houseguest! Who would want to see a grungy-toothed, flaky-faced, cracked-lipped Jane in the morning? Not too many people, I can assure you! Heck, even I wouldn’t want to see that!
I suppose we should have looked at the calendar a little more carefully, but we didn’t want to miss either event. And we also didn’t want Vince’s dad to lift a finger on Sunday since it is his 80th birthday and Father’s Day we’re celebrating. So we offered to bring the whole shebang to Newark. Not that we’re super-heroes here – we are part of a cooperative effort with several other family members to make this a successful and fun event.
On the other hand, we’re responsible for some of the basics. I mean, you’ve gotta have a plate to eat off of, and a cup to drink out of, don’t you? And who wants to eat coleslaw with their fingers? And what if there weren’t napkins to clean off our coleslaw-covered fingers? Who knows…all that messiness could lead to a big food fight or something. And I, for one, will not be interested in cleaning barbecue sauce off the patio furniture after such a hectic weekend. So I figure we’d better make extra sure that we don’t forget anything.
Fortunately, Vince’s brother agreed to help us out and load up his vehicle with all our “stuff” so we can go out of town Saturday and then head straight to Newark on Sunday without having to detour in Columbus to re-pack our car with supplies and vittles for Sunday’s gathering. Good thing, too, because I don’t think the dill dip and baby back ribs would survive overnight in the trunk of the car in Cleveland. Can you say botulism?!
So tonight when I get home, I will immediately start in on my packing list. Probably I should pack the toothbrush, moisturizer and lip balm first, just to be safe. But wait a minute…I think I’d better double-check my list and make sure “underwear” is written down somewhere. This isn’t, after all, a commando sort of weekend.
Oh, and by the way - Happy Father’s Day to all you dads and granddads and dad-like men out there! May you be treated like kings. And may you be exempt from cleaning barbecue sauce off of the patio furniture after the inevitable food fight. (What? Food fights aren't a part of everyone's celebrations? Really?! Oh...)