My Inbox

I have mentioned before about my inbox; how I lost it, then found it, then realized it wasn’t quite up to the task.

Have you ever thought of a Mother’s Inbox?  I mean, really if you gave this any consideration. . .

Which I highly suspect that no-one has, as I tend to give things consideration that no-one else would.

Have you ever seen a job list attributed to mother’s?   Let me just do a quick web search and see if I can find it.  Okay, I think I found it:  slideshow.  This is just the top ten jobs counted.  They forgot to add “Dr. Mom” and, in my case, “Teacher”.  Of course, there are a great number of other items as well. . .

BUT, I would be distracting myself!

The point was / is, the “inbox”.  How exactly does one fit the day-to-day jobs into an inbox?  I mean, exactly what size would the inbox be???

Well, let me first say that I have two inboxes.

The first contains items specifically school related.

Such as papers I’m supposed to grade every day.

*ahem* (‘fessing to that being a week’s worth of grading right there — just of the older boys.  The younger boys are definately “graded” immediately.)

The second inbox, is the “big one”.

It’s all relative.  Let’s face it, the 5 loads of laundry I need to do today, is NOT going to fit in this box!

But, that item on my to-do list fits rather nicely.

I have mentioned my list fetish before, probably summarized best here.  One of my BIG problems has always been that the LIST has a nasty tendency to walk away.

So, I now have a designated space.

And this space has another terribly handy function too.

You know that maxim, “A place for everything and everything in it’s place”?

Well, I’ve got the first part nailed down.  Everything in this house has a “place”.

My problem, and I’m just as guilty of this as the children, is that getting things put back in their place is always such a bother at the time.

Thus, the box.

I just chuck it in the box.

Except, then I can’t see my list. . .

Which turned into an accidental utter bit of brilliance on my part, as I am inspired to then put the stuff into it’s place in order to see my list.

Jay was talking to a nursing recruiter on the phone the other day and suddenly needed to take notes.  He saw the pad of paper and pens handy and made the mistake of thinking they were for anyone’s use.

He, and probably the nursing recruiter on the other end of the line, were treated to a hysteric lecture discourse on boundries, and how this particular box — and the stuff therein — is off-limits to anyone of the male variety in this house. 

He has wisely decided not to call that particular hospital back.