We’re trying to get out of here early today. My kids and I are headed out-of-town for a mini-vacation to visit family in Canada while my husband is basking in the desert sun down in Arizona. I’m going to save the commentary on fairness and equality for another day. Right now we’re pretty excited just to be leaving the house.
I worked extra hard this week to get all of my loose ends tied up. I am literally waiting on one last email to come through before I am off the hook for the week. Meanwhile, my daughter and I are packing bags, vacuuming out the car, and finding the toys they will enjoy on the road. Then we’re headed to the grocery store to buy some snacks. We’ll swing by the school to grab her brother, and then jump on the ferry. Zippity-Zap, as my daughter likes to say.
Finished the laundry yesterday. Poured some bleach in the toilets this morning. Picked up the living room. Loaded the dishwasher. Fed the cats. And … opened the refrigerator.
OMG. What is living in the refrigerator? I can always judge the quality of our lives by what I find in the refrigerator. When we are living healthy, well-balanced lives, the refrigerator reflects our calm. The shelves are clean. Drawers full of organic fruits and vegetables. Left-overs neatly packed in space-saving containers.
On the other hand, when we are living in chaos, I can bet on finding one slice of dried-out pizza waiting for me in a large cardboard pizza box wedged between shelves. Styrofoam Chinese take-out containers taking up three shelves with food that is now so dry and repulsive that it will never be eaten. And what is this … a full pot of mac-n-cheese with cling wrap pressed around the rim … making room for the spoon handle that is still sticking out? Mmmmmm … that one looks tasty.
I guess I’ve discovered my task for minimizing today. I wish I could tell you that I was one of those people who needed a completely clean house before I left on vacation so that I could return and pretend I am still on vacation for a day or two. I am not that person. Instead, I slam the refrigerator shut and head for the door. Load up the kids. Buckles? Snacks? We’re out of here.