Organizing Your Military Home, Part One

Fall has arrived, everyone! Things are apple and vanilla scented, stores are boasting everything from frozen turkey to Christmas trees, and neighborhood porches are encrusted with maniacally grinning orange gourds. It’s also getting chilly, which signals the beginning of the Great Winter Couch Potato Race! Rather than save your cleaning for spring, why not get some of it done now? Make some room for those holiday gifts, and decluttering will make the house much more bearable during those dark winter months. I promise.

1. Set it up the night before.

I know this sounds simple, and I know it’s something that a lot of people do. But taking it to an extreme is easier at night, and leads to a MUCH simpler morning. Need your morning cup of go juice? Preset your coffee maker. Kids scrambling in the morning to find their backpack stuffers?

Suck up the extra energy it takes to find all the homework and permission slips, and get it all in there the night before. Do the kids eat at home in the morning? Set out bowls, spoons, oatmeal packets, etc. For kids that can’t pick out their own clothes and get dressed (or for kids that will come downstairs in a tutu and cowboy boots if left to their own devices), set aside a drawer or use a cloth hanging organizer in the closet. Then, when folding the mountains of cartoon underwear and t shirts, set aside a week’s worth of outfits. Slide them into the drawer or organizer; and you’re set for the week!

2. Look at your coat closet.

Seriously. Open it up, tilt your head, and squint one eye. Pretend you aren’t you, but a neighbor/friend/family member. Okay, maybe not friend, because it is a cardinal rule in female friendship that you may not judge another Mom’s coat closet. Anyway, take a gander at it. How many coats are hanging? How many shoes are scattered around? Backpacks? Purses? Crayons, kites, neighbor children? Figure out what you need in that closet, and set it aside. What else is in there? Set aside the items that should be put away in other places. Be honest, we don’t need seven pairs of shoes per person in the coat closet. Or, if you do (and you have the type of door that permits it) buy a plastic shoe organizer and hang it on the door. Presto –change-o, floor space! Next, are there extra coats that are in there, but don’t get used? Perhaps they have been outgrown, or one of the munchkins decided they hate purple now. If you can use them again, pack them away. Now, I understand that letting go of things is hard. We love our children, and many times have emotional attachment to the memories that happened in the clothing. Repeat after me: “Getting rid of a BLANK does not make me a bad parent, and does not take away my memories!” Now pack that purple jacket in the donation box mentioned in the next tip, and move on!

3. Boxes, boxes everywhere….

Got some boxes? Cardboard, plastic totes, or footlockers? (We Military folk move a lot, so we all know about the empty boxes hidden away.) Grab a few empties, and designate some general purposes for them. Now that many of the Armed Services require members to arrive hauling every green and tan piece of equipment known to man, it is likely that there are many oddball pieces floating around. And, if you are like me, the stray pieces left after deployment packing were shoved into a closet. Unfortunately, out of sight, out of mind doesn’t work when the stuff ends up teetering precariously on a shelf of an often-used closet. Empty footlockers? Start by putting the equipment in there. If you’re feeling particularly froggy, you can separate the equipment from the clothing, separate it by seasonal use, and even label them with the contents. Voila, packing for the field no longer requires a prayer and a 10 digit grid coordinate!

4. Storage is a Mom’s Best Friend.

Plastic bins are great for seasonal decorations, crafts, and clothing that aren’t immediately necessary. If you don’t have plastic totes with lids, I suggest acquiring some. They aren’t super cheap, but they are worth their weight in organizational gold when you’re getting your life streamlined. They can be found at any Wal Mart or Target, and occasionally on places like Craigslist and Freecycle. Keep your eyes open, and opportunities for these sweet, stackable babies will cross your path.

5. Donate, Donate, Donate!

Big cardboard boxes (like those left over from household goods shipments) are great for donations. Toys, clothes, jackets and shoes are always appreciated this time of year, as are decorations that no longer fit your home and costumes that no longer fit your ankle biters. Drop them off at any ARC, Salvation Army, or Goodwill, and they will be thrilled to have them. Or, if you are busy and selfish about your free time (like I am), the Yahoo group Freecycle allows you to create a free local account. Then you post your offerings, and people will come pick them up. Not at home when they’re coming, or don’t want strangers in your house? Close the box, slap a note on top and let them know it will be a porch or curb pick up. Easy peasy!

6. Dress your closets for success.

I l I liked the snappy title of this, but it by no means applies only to closets. This is also for dressers, bureaus, and overflowing laundry baskets. We all have our “skinny” jeans, the shirts we don’t wear anymore, and the holey granny-panties. Start by going through and pulling out things you just don’t wear. I don’t care how much your BFF swore you’d be able to wear that mint-green bridesmaid dress again, she was wrong. Reach down and grab the inner seething you endured when you had to buy it, and set it free. Shoes that fit before you had your kids? I don’t care how much weight you lose, your feet aren’t going to shrink. Let your foot misfortune bring joy to someone else, and donate them. Purses from yesteryear? If they are too small to hold everything you need and aren’t dedicated to a specific outing (clutches for dress up occasions, for example) lose ‘em. After all that is gone, take out the things that you don’t wear often, and put them into a storage container, and put the storage container away from your closet. Wait thirty days. After thirty days, keep only the clothes you had to retrieve during the month and actually wore. If you didn't need anything, donate the box. Don’t open it, don’t double check. If you didn't get it out for a month, you don’t use it.

Okay, we’ve gone through a lot of information. And just thinking about organizing everything in your life can be exhausting, let alone actually doing it. Take it a bit at a time, or get on a roll! However you choose to streamline your life, remember that your hard work will pay off!

A House Is Not a Home

There are days the panic starts to take over.

You know it won’t last. You know it’s just a bad day, and bad days are bound to happen. They will creep in, unexpected, like a frost that heating off of your car makes you late for work. They will rear their tiny, ugly heads, like an English folk creature that won’t leave your kitchen until you provide the object it’s been looking for, or a cockroach that has taken up residence under your refrigerator.

Days that you wonder what you’re going to do, how you’re going to do it, and if it’s what you’re supposed to be doing. It’s so easy to ignore the big questions and just keep pushing forward, because momentum is good. It makes you feel like something is getting accomplished.

But at what point do the cold cups of coffee, and trips to the potty, and term papers start to become blurry and inane? At what point do you simply avoid reaching out for comfort or solace? Because when you really, really needed it from the one you’re working so hard to emotionally support, and it’s not returned. It’s not rational, not logical, not fair. And when you ask, you’re scoffed at.

Scoffed at.

That bad day…that gnawing, aching pain that rests in your shoulders, your stomach. That bad day that makes you feel like you could crawl out of your skin. That bad day that caused a fight, and then the phone line stopped working. Stupid third world cell phones. Stupid Fights. Stupid bad days. Stupid that I didn’t say I love you before the phone died. Sorry I brought up anything to cause a fight. Sorry that unless you’re here, a house is not a home.

I’m sorry for my bad day.

I Like Free Stuff Too, But Damn! (Colorado Springs Edition #1)

Well, guys, it’s that time. I know I said I’d do this earlier, but I didn’t get around to it until now. Turns out, those degree thingies take work. Oy.

And now? Onto the Freecyclers of my new city of residence, Colorado Springs!

I'm looking for a bike so I can learn to ride. Something in good condition, since I know nothing about bicycles. I don't need anything huge.

Like a circus unicycle. I’d much prefer something with a daisy encrusted wicker basket and a ring a ding bell. That’s what I wanted when I was FIVE, when my parents should have taught me. Douchebags.

Want two carseats for tolddlers as well as a toddler bed with mattress if possible, also an old style school desk, white paint, end tables outdoor toys like swing set, also want a powerwheels truck or car that runs for my sons birthday next week.

Oh, and then some party invitations, some kids to come to a party, a house to have the party in, and spellcheck. And for God’s sake, it has to be by my son’s birthday. Otherwise he’ll think I’m unprepared, and have nowhere to sleep. Or do his homework. Or swing. Or a power wheels vehicle to drive away from me in.

OFFER: some pink and some purple toole (Fountain,CO) some small bits of pink toole some large parts ofpurple toole toole= see through lacey stuff like ballet dancers wear or decor around windows.

Eh, thanks anyway. I just hung a ballerina from my curtain rod. It got the job done.

P.S. Toole=YOU.

OFFER: Pillows One standard size and one travel size pillow, both used.

You’re fucking gross. Nothing about this is okay.

WANTED: CRICKET PHONE (CENTRAL) Hello,Does anybody have a cricket phone??? Im going insane!!!

Yeah. The Cricket store. They called to tell you that their phones are, like, three dollars and don’t require a plan. They said that they are basically the meth dealers of cell phones. But your minutes will probably expire when you’re in crazy phone-withdrawl lockdown.

WANTED: 99 Ply Voyager parts (manitou ) Both visors w/brackets,drivers headlight assy., full size rim/spare, travel/stow gear,window sunscreens,tires, hubcap if match or 2 or 4. Thanks Freecycler

So, the bottom line is that I need a fuckin’ car. With matching hubcaps. Why a 99 Plymouth Voyager? Don’t fuckin’ question me.

OFFER: 2 twin comforters (Springs Ranch ) I have two holey twin comforters. One is GI Joe and I think the other is blue and green. A dog we were watching got a hold of them. They are washed.

Hey, I know a broad with some pillows you should link up with.

WANTED: Recliner that swivels (westside )I am looking for a recliner that swivels in good condition for an elder. Thanks in advance!

An elder what? Tree? Person of importance in the Mormon church? One of those guys from the Matrix?

WANTED: gps navigator (80923) get lost all the time.

You have no idea how much I believe that.

OFFER: organ (80132 monument) Lowrey organ, nice piece in very good condition and works, don't have specific information on it but can send pictures. Need to be
able to move it out yourself with at least 1 or 2 other strong persons, very heavy.

Okay, there’s not a single thing wrong with this post, aside from the fact that two people probably couldn't carry an organ. I just thought it was super cool.

OFFER: pencils (80910) pencils - enough that I can't get my hand around them all. The erasers are hardened. When responding, please include a window of time on which day(s) you'll be able to pick up.

Day(s)?!?! What the FUCK? Someone is going to need to make extra trips to pick up your crusty ass pencils? I know you said you couldn’t get your hand around them all, but is a Ziplock bag and some well-wishing for a single safe, pencil filled trip out of the question?

OFFER: full sized futon matress ( rockrimmon) Also have a frame at seperate location

Bring unmarked bills. And NO COPS. If you don’t listen? The frame gets it.

OFFER: box of books (union & boulder) I have a mid sized box of what appears to be Christian books.

They appear to be Christian books? What, are they wearing masks?

WANTED: Wanted beekeeping supplies ( 80831) any beekeeping supplies.

Like some fuckin’ bees.

OFFER: manual breast pump & pads (80910 ) had a no show. good condition.

You know why they were a no show? Because they came to their goddamn senses, and realized that they were supposed to be picking up a USED BREAST PUMP.

WANTED: FeaTHERS, FEATHERS, FeaTHers, (central) Does anybody have any feathers?????

Okay. I’ve racked my brain, and I’ve got nothin’. (Insert scene from Hook here, with Tootles searching for his marbles....)

It's As Though The Candy Should Belong To Him....

I’m fully aware that this is the first blog I’ve written in, like, six months. It should probably be a piece riddled with beautiful, Soldier adulating prose.

Maybe next week. Today I’m pissy, I haven’t talked to my husband, and the underwire broke in my bra. The clouds keep coming in, and there's just a tiny bit of rain. Then the clouds part and we're back to the miserable hot that makes me grumpy enough to punch a kitten.

Despite the oven-like heat, the fall semester has started, which means a few things:

I am already officially frustrated with the classes that I thought would come most easily to me.

Campus is swarming with every 17 year old flippy haired, patchouli smelling high school graduate in Colorado Springs (except for those going to actual colleges).

I can now purchase candles and plug ins that make my house smell like baked goods. Fall and winter are the only two seasons where cinnamon, apple, or coffee scented things are allowed in my home. Otherwise, I'd gain another hundred pounds and you'd find me sitting in my closet, eating carrot cake mix out of the box. I'm just saying.

We're almost ninety days into this CRAPCRAPMEGACRAP deployment. It feels like it's moving at a snail's pace (if the snail were on crutches and in high heels). But ninety days is three months, and three months is a quarter of the deployment down. I guess 25% isn't so small, percentage wise. Hells bells, those math classes are paying off.

It also means that we're creeping up on the Midget's third birthday, and the first Halloween that he'll actually have some understanding of what's going on. It's a double edged sword, though, his understanding Halloween. Sure, he can walk on his own, he's old enough to pronounce “trick or treat”, and he's decided to dress as Daddy, which is the cutest EFFING thing I've ever seen. I know, I know, it really seems like any down side would be simply overshadowed by all of this, right? WRONG.

“Why?” You ask?

Because, people, genetics are a BITCH. He loves all the candy I love, which means that I either have to sneak the good pieces out (hello, Reese’s, you delicious mofos) or actually share. I think it’s crap, to be honest. I thought that one of the simple pleasures of parenting a toddler was getting the good candy. I mean, I bought the costume, I’m the one taking him out in the cold and making sure he doesn’t get hit by a car or doesn’t end up on a milk carton.

I think I may have found the only acceptable solution.

I’m telling him the good candy tastes like vegetables.

The Breezy Fireplace Conundrum

The new glasses felt funny on her face. Not bad, exactly. Just something different that catches attention. Like a different brand of margarine, or when a razor has dulled itself into nicks so small you don’t notice to wipe the blood away.

She needed the glasses, though. As the years had progressed, her close quarters vision had become less effective, presumably due to the years of oddly colored computer screens that had burned through her retinas. But there was going to be enough trouble getting that degree. No sense in being stubborn about visual necessities.

She sat, watching the red stripe shrouded reason for stretch marks simultaneously perform Batman and cow air assaults on unsuspecting couch pillows and dump trucks. As she watched, she listened to the sound of the Air Force as their aircraft played amongst the clouds like seals in the waves. She wondered when the green tin can of Americana would come for her husband. She thought of other families, and wondered what it must be like. To feel safe, to not be paralyzed by the fear that the news could easily hold information that could change life, instantly and permanently.

The planes continued their afterburner frolic, and she watched smiled quietly at the juxtaposition of their roars with the light breeze toying with the sheer curtains. The fireplace flickered, and she knew that she should close the window. Somehow, though, the counter production didn’t matter as much as the peace that came from having a cool, rainy breeze while enjoying the flames. It was times like these that she felt alright. Creative. Thoughtful. Normal, even. It was times like these that let the potty training, the schoolwork, the cleaning and cooking and laundry fall to the back of her mind. They lay there, dormant, if only intermittently so. Soon enough, the world would rear its ugly head once again, and she would be forced to remember that peace comes in small stretches. Like a beach cove or a vintage thrift shop, you don’t stumble across it every day. As well as she understood that you must have bad to understand good, she just as fervently wished that the bad could come in smaller doses, if it need come at all.

As the time of her muse slowly drifted back into her now chilled coffee cup, she again watched the red clothed diaper demon. This time with affection, fear, and anticipation. She was soon to be his only world…his yearlong, singular connection to those which created him.

The thought weighed heavy on her mind. She sighed, sipped the cold coffee, and willed herself to return to the world of overpriced community college textbooks and toddler urine carpet spots. As she slipped back into reality, somehow, the fireplace stayed lit, and the breeze continued to stroke the curtain.

Perhaps she was distracted by those damned glasses. Or, perhaps, she wanted to stretch the peace just a bit longer.

But What If I Suck At It?

My time, of late, seems to be divided pretty equally between the vacuum, the Dollar Tree, and various school errands. Throw in the occasional grocery schlep and the Diaper Demon’s constant whining for mommydaddycheesemilkieatiwantcatigobyebye, my schedule is pretty full. I could probably even fill up a wall calendar with some to do’s, but...well, who wants to write crap like that on a calendar?

I’m not a huge fan of the “Me Time” phenomenon; at least, not in the weekly Mani Pedi, Coach VS Dolce eyewear debate way. I try to take little bits of my day to chill out, you know, here and there. It’s less “Me Time”, and more “Don’t Beat My Child Time”. I find a few minutes here or there to grab a cup of coffee, watch fifteen minutes of Top Chef, or pretend to be using the bathroom (when I am, in fact, trying out my new can of Veet).

The mother of all my time outs, though, is working on my blog. I love to write, you see. No, seriously, I fucking LOVE to write. Not about anything important, really. I don’t think I could even be placed into a specific blogging group. I don’t write enough about being a parent to be a Mom-blogger. I don’t write enough about current events to be a News Blogger. I don’t purchase anything regularly enough to be a Review Blogger. Mostly I just am inspired by a line, phrase, or picture, and the words start to flow. And boyohboy, do I love when those words start to flow.

Problem is, without a specific focus, you can’t much expect for your writing to project itself. There’s nothing instantly recognizable enough to attach itself to any one subject. That places me squarely in the land of Weblog Ambiguity, of which I am not queen, princess, or jester. Hell, I’m not even that handmaiden that gets to wear those kick ass low cut velvet Renaissance dresses. Which is why the recent suggestion to begin a resume consulting business really set my gears to turning.

“I hate that you did her resume,” she said to me one day (referring to a leader-by-title of ours). “I mean, she’s worthless, and now her resume is going to make her look kick ass.”

It was at that point that I began to feel the tug-of-war between “Shit, she’s right!” and “Hey, wait a minute, my resumes kick ass?”

I guess it’s not too much of a stretch, really. Blogging is just a way to creatively impose your opinion on unsuspecting victims, and there is little that I enjoy more than shoving my obnoxiousness into the great wide beyond (unless you count excessive commas, coffee, or reality television). I’ve noodled the idea around for awhile now, and this morning seemed the right morning to check some stuff out. As the web tabs multiplied, I came to some startling realizations:

You need a name for your company. Then you need a website. What if your name is taken by another website? Do you risk taking a .net or .org, or do you think of another name? Should you take the bull by the horns, and look at making business cards, or is that getting too cocky (no barnyard pun intended). Do you talk to people you’ve helped in this aspect before, and look to them for endorsement? Is electronic communication the best way, or should you include paper copies? Watermarks? Trademarks? And what if I end up sucking at it?

Any accomplished (fully, quasi, delusional, or otherwise) entrepreneurs, please feel free to chime in. Seriously. Please. Chime in, like, NOW.

Your Devil Better Not Wear Prada....

Recently, Jennifer Egan won a Pulitzer prize for her newest fictional work “A Visit From The Goon Squad”. While I am not a fan of works that are (in my humble opinion) some kind of love child that could have been spawned by a brief, drunken tryst between Palahniuk and Grisham, I am pleased for the praise that the writing of a novel should receive, particularly because women have not been as recognized in this avenue that I believe they should have. I am not, however, pleased with her interview with the Wall Street Journal.

The interview began benignly enough, with all the appropriate statements about how things are unreal, uncanny, and how she had to leave her lunch reservation because it was just all too much. The dialogue continued, filling the page mostly with the interviewer asking repeatedly how winning an award of this importance made the author feel, and Egan giving modest replies, like “nutty” and “fantastical”, and stating that now that her book has received such attention, she feels like an outsider, as if she should go back and reread it.

Seems pretty harmless, right?

The last question she was asked referred to the difference in how men and women “come off” in the media. Her outlook on the subject was not focused on the differences in voicing opinions from a gender based standpoint. Rather, it focused on women remaining quiet and aiming for the literary stars. She went on to compare “The Tiger’s Wife” by Tea Obreht, to Kaavya Viswanathan’s quasi-plagiarism of “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life”. She called Obreht’s type a “young, ambitious writer”, and then blasted Viswanathan not for her plagiarism, but for plagiarizing works Egan considers to be “derivative, banal stuff”, and for utilizing the authoresses of “Chick-Lit” as role models for the written word.

“My advice for young female writers would be to shoot high and not cower”, ended her article.

I wonder how Egan would have felt if the Pulitzer Foundation had decided that her words were unworthy because…oh, I don’t know, they didn’t like her font? Or her chapter titling preferences were not theirs? The picture over the blurb-ography on the back cover was a bit too hippy-dippie?

Of course, the idea that a foundation dedicated to the existence, fostering, and praise of extraordinary works of art could be capable of (and willing to) degrade an author’s brainchild is insane.

Additional insanity, in my opinion, is the idea that a woman so keen on the idea of female authors would tread so heavily across not only other published, award winning female authors, but also across those who read the above mentioned, and are just finding the best way to let the ink flow from their pens.

Be it Jennifer Weiner, Peter Beagle, Norman Mailer, or the shadow writer for Nicole Richie, if it is inspiring to you, it is inspiring.

Whether your tastes lie with Kinsella or with Tolstoy, when you write, your words are your own, and let no one take your muse from you.