717. Queen Virgo Moved Out

I walked into the kitchen at 4:30 this morning, searching for Girl Scout cookies.  I opened the refrigerator and gasped:  there was a gallon jug of milk blocking the orange juice carton, containers of (expired) yogurt cozying up to dried out peanut butter (label facing away), and wilty lettuce keeping company with grated cheese (bag not sealed properly) and the last vestiges of mayonnaise; lemons were not in the fruit drawer, nor even in a baggie; nothing was alphabetical, haphazardness reigned supreme.  It was obvious what had happened:  Queen Virgo moved out.

This had been a long time coming. 

When Tall was born, Queen Virgo spent hours and hours and hours pairing up teeny-tiny white baby socks and ironing onesies.  It was fun for the first week or so, but then Queen Virgo decided she had better things to do, like sleep. 

A few years later when Short was born, Queen Virgo still had a vision of order and cleanliness.  Unfortunately, Short, Tall, The Husband, and even the cat had other ideas.  The Husband liked to put his newspapers in the recycle bin without refolding them first (I know—it’s a wonder we’re still married).  Tall would track mud in the back door and then wipe up the floor with a wet towel without bothering to dry the floor afterwards.  When Short was a toddler, he put his dishes in the dishwasher facing the wrong way.  The cat wandered from room to room, never so much as offering to vacuum up the excessive fur she shed.  Queen Virgo was despondent.   

Oh, sure, when the family was at work or school, Queen Virgo would scramble around trying to make the house a palace again, or at least get the Legos off the dining room table.  She would make the beds (only to be slept in and messed up again mere hours later), wash dishes, put laundry away, Windex the bathroom mirror, all the while saying, “Would anyone notice if I moved to Honolulu?”

But last night must have been the final straw.  She had washed all the dinner pots, pans, dishes, and glasses, dried them, and put them away, when The Husband walked into the kitchen with his dirty ice-cream bowl.  He chirped, “Don’t forget this one, Sweetie!” 

Queen Virgo does not respond well to being told to do a task when she thought she was already done with said task.  Queen Virgo hurled the ice-cream bowl at his head. 

No, not really.  But she left, possibly for good. 

Fortunately, besides leaving behind a legacy of perfection, she also left behind a detailed map for where the extra Girl Scout cookies are hidden.  (Hint:  they’re behind the frozen corn out in the garage’s extra freezer, obviously Queen Virgo’s final attempt to adhere to alphabetical order even under duress.) 

I’d send her a thank you note, but she left no forwarding address. 

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392. Reminder Girl

Although I don't usually wear a red cape, I have a superhero role in life, and that role is: Reminder Girl. I am the one in my immediate family and in my circle of friends who ever-so-slightly nudges people to remember things. Some people might call this “nagging,” I prefer to see it in a more positive light.

Forget when your dentist appointment is? No problem, I remember. Do we have soccer practice on Tuesdays or Thursdays this season? Ask me. When should you turn in your special school project/ taxes/ mail a birthday card/ respond back to a party invitation? I know all this, and more.

When you wake up, I will remind you to write a check for the PTA fundraiser or your son’s school lunches. As you are walking out the door, I will let you know that the forecast is predicting storms, so you need a raincoat. Oh, and take the Netflix movie with you and drop it in the mailbox on your way to work. Did you put your homework in your folder or record your minutes on your reading log? No? That’s okay, I will prompt you.

All this reminding is wearing me out. No one reminds me of anything. I have to do enough reminding for three other people and a cat, plus myself. Self, remember to pick up Tall’s prescription. Self, the deadline for Short’s school registration forms is this week. Self, did you request off from work for the 26th? Better get on it.

My friends all know that when they schedule playdates with my children, they don’t even need to bother writing it on their calendar. Why would they? I will just email them a friendly note the night before:

Subject: Confirm Playdate Tomorrow.
Lisa, Short is so excited to come over and see Dylan tomorrow at 10 AM to play. See you then!

If I am going to the movies with a bunch of girlfriends, they’re all well aware that I will find out which theater, the start time, and coordinate carpooling. They can just sit back and relax, maybe take a quick nap while I figure everything out.

Is this a Virgo thing? Is this a mom thing? Is this a wife thing? What is this thing, this reminder thing, that has consumed my life? I am not being paid for it, although obviously I would make a damn fine office manager or personal assistant to a famous movie star, if only I could parlay this talent into a lucrative job.

That reminds me, I need to work on my resume.

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(“Me: Obsessive Virgo”)