I had dreams that I worked really hard to make this Boy Scout pancake breakfast work so that no one got sick to their stomachs and no one actually showed up. Dreams. Technicolor dreams.
I did that kind of thing when planning my wedding twenty-two years ago too. I dreamed that I walked down the aisle in a borrowed purple prom dress. I woke knowing it was time, past time really, to go find my dress. I dreamed that I planned the whole thing, caterers and all, and no one came because a pile of invitations sat on my desk. That morning, I knew it was time to send out the invitations.
So yesterday, when I dreamed that no one came to the pancake breakfast, I woke knowing it was time once again to send out the invitations. The funny thing to know here is that I only had forty-nine people at my wedding including the musicians and caterers. I still remember that number because I told the caterers that everyone needed to eat. Everyone. I wish the number had been forty-two. A bit of advice to all you girls planning your weddings out there. The musicians play longer and are quite cheerful if you feed them.
So, I procrastinated all afternoon with my notification to the newspapers. The community has two newspapers and a newsletter. The newsletter publishes on the first of the month, so I figured most people will have eaten breakfast before they crack open the newsletter for the local news. That was a bummer. But I figured the two newspapers should cover things, plus a good plug to my Facebook friends the week before. Hopefully, that will rouse a hundred or so people from their pajamas and cartoons on a Saturday morning to go help the local Boys Scout troop send its boys to camp. We also might get some grandparents if I make up fliers too and hopefully some people at the last minute who are tired of waiting to get onto the train for the view of the falls.
I sat down about twenty minutes before it was time to drive Nick to karate and wrote the who, what, where, when, and why of it all on a scrap of paper. I use that method because I'm the one who invited twenty of my best friends to a birthday party once and never put the date of the party on the cards. Really? Yeah. I did that. I also planned a birthday party, with potato salad and baked beans, and forgot to bring any serving spoons. After that, I began to work from a list I kept on my computer. I totally love that list. It saves my butt every year when it's time to set up Nick's annual birthday picnic. Last year, we invited twenty-one kids and their families. You'd think I'd have this food thing down by now.
You'd think.
So, I finished the who, what, where, when, why and I think there was no need for how in this case. Then the little piece of paper sat there, on top of my laptop, until 10:30 when Mike was trying to get ready for bed.
"Honey, they don't have a place for me to enter anything new on the events page," I yelled into the bathroom.
"It should be there somewhere," Mike said through his toothpaste. "Try checking the 'contacts' tab."
"Not there either." I asked a half a dozen more inane questions to which Mike responded with patience. Did I ever tell you that Mike is patient? Seriously, if he did the whole thing himself, he'd have the answer to these questions about websites he's never visited. He's good at finding the wheat amid the chaff of software and web pages. I know I should have clammed up and done my job. He had been the one to delegate it to me, not the other way around, I reminded myself.
"Would you edit this?" I asked, handing him the scrap of paper with my 'who, what, where' scrawled on it.
"It looks fine," he said after fifteen seconds. He sat down on the bed and took off his socks. Did he read it at all? Did I wait too late in the evening to have access to his thinking brain? I turned to go back out to sit down at the computer.
"Did you answer the who, what, where, and when?" he called after me. He's a gem. He really is. I turned in time to see him peel off his T-shirt.
"Got it," I said, with a little more confidence. I hugged him good night and hoped I could join him before the Cinderella hour.
I went back to the contact information on the 'submit news' page for the first newspaper. I entered all the required information, looked it over one last time, referring to my scratch paper, and pressed the 'submit' button. Yay! I was half done.
Then, onto the second newspaper I went. It's format was entirely different. I typed in all the required fields and pasted my who, what, when, where into the main field. I could hear my pillow calling my name. Just a few more minutes to go. I figured I could wait to finish the fliers until just before the next troop meeting. I was mentally brushing my teeth and looking at my reflection in the mirror when I pressed the 'submit' button for the second time, skipping right past another button that said 'preview.' Nah, I've got this down!
Nope. I didn't have it down!
The view of my events calendar entry after I pressed that 'submit' button repeated everything twice, once from the required fields I had filled in on the web page and once from my piece of scratch paper listing the who, the what, the where, and the when in the main block the page designers had left me. So now, this event is going to be listed in the paper with the who, the what, the when, and the where showing up twice. I hate when I'm redundant! Hate it!
Do you know in the movie 'Bridget Jones's Diary' where the love of her life is about to tell her that he likes her just as she is? And she's so busy ranting at him that she might actually miss the moment and she says, "I feel like an idiot most of the time anyway."
Yeah, that.
Thank you for listening, jb
I did that kind of thing when planning my wedding twenty-two years ago too. I dreamed that I walked down the aisle in a borrowed purple prom dress. I woke knowing it was time, past time really, to go find my dress. I dreamed that I planned the whole thing, caterers and all, and no one came because a pile of invitations sat on my desk. That morning, I knew it was time to send out the invitations.
So yesterday, when I dreamed that no one came to the pancake breakfast, I woke knowing it was time once again to send out the invitations. The funny thing to know here is that I only had forty-nine people at my wedding including the musicians and caterers. I still remember that number because I told the caterers that everyone needed to eat. Everyone. I wish the number had been forty-two. A bit of advice to all you girls planning your weddings out there. The musicians play longer and are quite cheerful if you feed them.
So, I procrastinated all afternoon with my notification to the newspapers. The community has two newspapers and a newsletter. The newsletter publishes on the first of the month, so I figured most people will have eaten breakfast before they crack open the newsletter for the local news. That was a bummer. But I figured the two newspapers should cover things, plus a good plug to my Facebook friends the week before. Hopefully, that will rouse a hundred or so people from their pajamas and cartoons on a Saturday morning to go help the local Boys Scout troop send its boys to camp. We also might get some grandparents if I make up fliers too and hopefully some people at the last minute who are tired of waiting to get onto the train for the view of the falls.
I sat down about twenty minutes before it was time to drive Nick to karate and wrote the who, what, where, when, and why of it all on a scrap of paper. I use that method because I'm the one who invited twenty of my best friends to a birthday party once and never put the date of the party on the cards. Really? Yeah. I did that. I also planned a birthday party, with potato salad and baked beans, and forgot to bring any serving spoons. After that, I began to work from a list I kept on my computer. I totally love that list. It saves my butt every year when it's time to set up Nick's annual birthday picnic. Last year, we invited twenty-one kids and their families. You'd think I'd have this food thing down by now.
You'd think.
So, I finished the who, what, where, when, why and I think there was no need for how in this case. Then the little piece of paper sat there, on top of my laptop, until 10:30 when Mike was trying to get ready for bed.
"Honey, they don't have a place for me to enter anything new on the events page," I yelled into the bathroom.
"It should be there somewhere," Mike said through his toothpaste. "Try checking the 'contacts' tab."
"Not there either." I asked a half a dozen more inane questions to which Mike responded with patience. Did I ever tell you that Mike is patient? Seriously, if he did the whole thing himself, he'd have the answer to these questions about websites he's never visited. He's good at finding the wheat amid the chaff of software and web pages. I know I should have clammed up and done my job. He had been the one to delegate it to me, not the other way around, I reminded myself.
"Would you edit this?" I asked, handing him the scrap of paper with my 'who, what, where' scrawled on it.
"It looks fine," he said after fifteen seconds. He sat down on the bed and took off his socks. Did he read it at all? Did I wait too late in the evening to have access to his thinking brain? I turned to go back out to sit down at the computer.
"Did you answer the who, what, where, and when?" he called after me. He's a gem. He really is. I turned in time to see him peel off his T-shirt.
"Got it," I said, with a little more confidence. I hugged him good night and hoped I could join him before the Cinderella hour.
I went back to the contact information on the 'submit news' page for the first newspaper. I entered all the required information, looked it over one last time, referring to my scratch paper, and pressed the 'submit' button. Yay! I was half done.
Then, onto the second newspaper I went. It's format was entirely different. I typed in all the required fields and pasted my who, what, when, where into the main field. I could hear my pillow calling my name. Just a few more minutes to go. I figured I could wait to finish the fliers until just before the next troop meeting. I was mentally brushing my teeth and looking at my reflection in the mirror when I pressed the 'submit' button for the second time, skipping right past another button that said 'preview.' Nah, I've got this down!
Nope. I didn't have it down!
The view of my events calendar entry after I pressed that 'submit' button repeated everything twice, once from the required fields I had filled in on the web page and once from my piece of scratch paper listing the who, the what, the where, and the when in the main block the page designers had left me. So now, this event is going to be listed in the paper with the who, the what, the when, and the where showing up twice. I hate when I'm redundant! Hate it!
Do you know in the movie 'Bridget Jones's Diary' where the love of her life is about to tell her that he likes her just as she is? And she's so busy ranting at him that she might actually miss the moment and she says, "I feel like an idiot most of the time anyway."
Yeah, that.
Thank you for listening, jb
No comments:
Post a Comment