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Since I haven’t been blogging for a bit (okay, since November of 2014, but who’s counting–other than my own brain as it makes its reliable journey into a nightly grotto of self-loathing insomnia–I want you, dear reader (if I even have one left,) to know that, in addition to being certifiably nutters (time-consuming,) raising three rising stars (in the celestial sense, though Molly seems destined for . . . some sort of celebrity, and Rainer is a . . . well, I’ll just say it: she’s a musical prodigy, and of course my middle child, Zeke, a tender genius who needs to be misted like an orchid every-hour-on-the-hour,) there has also been the bit about being employed as a social marketer, (company name being considered: “Bone Thugs-N-Disharmony,” with our sales krew known in local patois as AdMob!) so I spend time on that. And somehow the damp laundry sours in the washing machine, the playroom looks like a Barbie/Littlest Pet Shoppe human/bestiality-orgy atop a series of LEGO spaceships, the dishwasher doesn’t get run until the food on everything has calcified–“necessitating” the procrastinator’s dishwashing Golden Ring! The need for things to be soaked!–meaning a *blurp* of a healthy squirt of homemade [that will be another post] washing-up liquid (you’ll notice I’ve adopted a few British colloquialisms; part of the gentle parenting of my teen–in addition to answering ’round about 100 daily two- to three word texts sent rapid-fire in random clusterfucks and ranging from th’ high melodrama to th’ mind-numbingly banal, also involves my embracing and power-streaming of all episodes of her beloved Dr. Who program.)
So: soaking! We love it. ***Blurp*** goes the washing-up liquid, set heat of water faucet up high enough to remove the designs clear off of the coffee mugs, et voilà! (That was your first homemaking tip from me; more to follow. Get your “PIN IT!” button-pressing fingers ready! Another free tip: Let spilled, cooked-to-softness Top Ramen noodles dry completely before attempting to sweep or vacuum them into oblivion! You’re welcome. PIN IT!)
In order to keep track of all this, and of all the psychiatrist and therapist visits, accompanying “coping mechanisms,” medication refills, reminders to tend to things like showering and that ilk, I needed a scheduler. Don’t talk to me about phone apps. Don’t even mention Google Calendar. That shit does. not. work. Plus: ART! So, to wit, my DIY bonkers-as-bloody-hell alternative day planner, taking me from dodgy to sorted (you affluent and sane types can just buy one from Erin Condren, who makes what seem to be the premiere iterations of such things–complete with personalization and all sorts of charming bells and whistles. They really are lovely, and I might have just gone ahead and gotten one if I had $50 lying around.) But I didn’t. So I did this:
Bwaaaahaaahaaaa, I hope you can read the text . . .
She’s come undun
Added a ziploc bag for stickers, coupons, reminders, etc. at the back ^ ^ ^
Nutters business-card holder for nutters
Bonus business card holder when you want that psychopathic vibe at your boardroom meeting.