Christmas Surprise

I think it was the Christmas when I was in 4th grade. I had read the classic Judy Blume coming-of-age story "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." Now, some say that story is all about finding God. But to me, at the time, it was all about the training bra. I had noticed some of my friends wearing training bras at school and, because I read that book, I knew I needed one, too. But how could I possibly bring that subject up to my mom? It just was not possible for a kid like me to broach that subject. And so I just hoped. And hoped. And maybe pushed my chest out just a little to show that I had a need for some support. And possibly pulled my shirt a little tighter. But just possibly. Did I recite the mantra, "I must, I must, I must increase my bust?" I'll never tell. But probably not.

On Christmas morning my mom gave me a present and told me I might want to open it separately, without everyone watching. I thought, "Could it be? No way! I never even told her. How could she have known? Maybe she read that book, too." And I carefully peeled the paper away to display my new.... training bra! I was excited and embarrassed all at once. I quickly stuffed it under a pillow on the couch so my brothers wouldn't see it, which of course was a terrible hiding place and one of them found it later. Brothers. I should write a post about brothers sometime.

Anyway, funny that a training bra should be one of the most memorable Christmas presents for me. I guess what's most memorable is that my mom figured it out. Maybe she read the book, too.

On Productivity

There are two household chores I hate with an extra dose of vengeance: washing dishes and scrubbing the master bathroom. As I was avoiding both today it occurred to me that avoiding those two jobs makes me, strangely, more productive. I use a no holds barred approach in my campaign to procrastinate doing those two duties. By the end of the day I will look around to see the wash done, beds made, iPod charged, bills paid, sharing time lesson for Sunday planned, blog updated, the flower beds weeded, letters written, errands run, children's hair cut, newspapers read and recycled, stories read, baths given, and everyone tucked in on time (or close to it).

But those two rooms will still look like a homeless person set up camp in them (no offense to homeless people. They are not generally known for their cleanliness, but I'm sure there are some who are quite tidy).

If I hired someone to do those jobs for me, then would my entire house finally be clean? I doubt it. Knowing I have those hateful chores to do is my source of power. That thought drives me to clean everything else in my house, to catch up on the odds and ends sort of jobs for school and church, to write blog posts which otherwise may never have been written, and so much more. I must do the dreaded tasks, eventually (it will be late at night when all my other excuses are gone), and I will, but I have to go into it knowing that I will have do them again. And so the next day the cycle will begin again until I find I have, somehow, cleaned my entire house without even planning to do so. And then I will have to give in and scrub that massive shower and gigantic tub-- again (bigger is not always better, friends) and I must rinse those dang dishes so my family can eat tomorrow (they always insist on eating, don't they?). I wish it could be easier. But I don't feel hopeful that I will ever become someone other than the sort of person I am now. Maybe I will improve in some areas, but I don't think I will ever stop procrastinating chores I hate to do. If you disapprove, well, you are more than welcome to show up at my house with a sponge and a can of scrubbing bubbles. But don't let me know you're coming or nothing else will ever happen around here.