We've had a bit of a seasonal weather change here in the great Pacific Northwest (rainy and gray in the morning--well more just wet and drizzly than rainy--and warm and sunny in the afternoon, typical of fall weather here) and it has my butt draggin' on the ground. Seriously. I just want to curl up in my bed and nap all day long. Now if this wasn't the week of my Grandma's funeral, and if I wasn't the only family member who lives in this area, this wouldn't be so much of a problem. I'd just stay in my sweats and my favorite ratty sweater (which would be the first thing to go if I ever got on "What Not to Wear." Unless they keep it and make it the supreme example of What Not to EVER Wear, but I digress--and I love it anyway--!) and I'd go w/the flow. Let myself adjust to the change of seasons gradually. Nap a little, play w/youngest DS a bunch, just go with the draggin' and not beat myself up about it.
Except the funeral is Saturday, and my mother is coming to town and I want things to be nice when she is here. Better than our every day nice. So I can't go w/the flow.
I read a lot of FlyLady emails. I'm on the daily email list, even though I really only follow about half of what she says 'cause that's all I feel like I can handle right now. I'm really taking to heart her "you can do anything for fifteen minutes" mantra. I am forcing myself to clean and scrub all of the little messy corners of my life. You know, the ones your Swiffer leaves behind and most of the time you don't really care. I have given myself quite a list of things to do before Thursday evening.
So what am I doing here then? I'm on my fifteen minute break. And I feel like talking a bit. That's one of the things I've realized. When someone close to you dies, you suddenly feel the need to tell all the stories you can about them. To make them real to people who never knew them. Like the time I was living in my Grandma's basement and we got a LOT of nasty spiders moving in with me into my basement sanctuary. They REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY freaked me out, and would often startle me into a blood curdling scream. My Grandma figured out what this scream meant rather quickly, and would shuffle her way to the basement stairs and make her arthritically painful way down the stairs to kill the spider for me. Because I was frozen with fear. Literally. This was just one of the small ways my Grandma loved and served me. I paid her back by vacuuming the living room carpet in perfect vacuum cleaner lines and by walking around the perimeter of the room for the rest of the week so's not to disturb the aforementioned perfect vacuum cleaner lines. I felt it was the least I could do to repay her for her awesome spider killing abilities and for not deriding me for my spider phobia. We were good for each other.
Well, my time's up. Now on to another housecleaning job before I take C to preschool.