11 September 2007
Chaos

Why is it that all my plans always seem to turn to shit at that critical moment. Everything starts out well. I get everything planned out, figure out what needs to be done, and then, whosh, it all falls to total shit.

I should jut give up.

Saturday we’re planning on having a grand old time for our fifth wedding anniversary (it’s actually Friday, but who wants to celebrate alone?). Folks are coming in for the baptism on Sunday and we figured it would be a nice opportunity to goof off a bit. Menu is planned, chores have been given out to various people, one of whom is going to be kind enough to attempt a certain dish I’m not feeling smart enough to do. (Yep, I was serious about that, else we'll have no veg with our meat. The horror!) All seems great!

Then Mr. Organized decides that having the friends around is also a great time to pick the friggin apples and squish ‘em and start them on the road to fermentation. Lovely. But Mr. Organized (first name is Notso) forgets that I like to plan these things in advance, so that I’m not stuck at the last minute with fifteen hungry souls trapped around a table while I’m trying to de-bone chicken thighs and feed a three month old and keep a toddler alive and keep a three-year-old from sticking forks in a light socket—one that’s still hanging from a wire four years after the renovation was started. I can multi-task, mais pas a ce point la!

AND: someone has to set up the place (wherever that turns out to be) where we’ll be eating Sunday—all forty of us. There are tables and chairs to set up, the table needs to be dressed, the buffet put up. There are THINGS THAT NEED TO BE DONE. But these finer points of entertaining escape him. The fact that we aren’t exactly sure where we’ll be eating is certainly playing on his mind, along with the myriad of other things—all business related , of course, but he is the one that needs to worry about them—but it’s not doing much more than playing. I don’t know if he thinks a magical solution will just present itself or what.

No, I do know that’s exactly what he’s thinking, because that’s what usually happens.

Hi, My name is Magical Solution.

Actually I’m already sick of the whole thing. Mr. Organized complains that each time his friends come it’s chaos, and he’s sad he doesn’t get to spend as much time as he’d like with each of them. I can totally understand and relate to that. I’m usually running after kids when my friends are around and that is a huge conversation killer. But I often feel like the whole of the work gets dumped on me, gets thanklessly dumped on me and hey, these are his kids, too.

But there’s the Farm Argument, and while the farm is paying the vast majority of the bills I can’t really bitch too much. Well, I can, but then he and I sit there and try to figure out traceless ways of killing each other.

I hate those apple tress. I really do.

And I’m not too particularly fond of the farm, either.

Especially the putain de farm equipment that keeps breaking. All. The. Damn. Time.

But it’s not only Mr. Organized that’s throwing wrenches in the machine. It’s this place. It’s the mayor. It’s just fricking life. Everything is conspiring against me. The weather’s turning cold, so our lovely champagne-cellar/barn/garage thing is out. No sense in having people sit down to eat if their butts are only going to freeze to the benches. The mayor is just a prat and I’m so sick about him closing down the church and kicking us out that I have to physically restrain myself every time he sticks his smiling, pro-American face out of his window to tell me I shouldn’t smoke. 97.8% of our guests have replied in one form or the other. That missing 2.2% will either show up or not. I have to move beyond caring about details. And let’s face it, 2.2% is a detail.

So as things stand now, tomorrow is the last of the Big Clean. No sense in doing it too early or I’ll just fuck it up again and who has time to do housework? Not I. (Seriously, those of you who don’t have nine weeks of dirty dishes piled up beside the dishwasher that hasn’t been unpacked for a month, or fifteen loads of laundry waiting desperately to be washed before they rot, or floors that will protect you should the Earth ever lose its gravitational pull, HOW THE HELL DO YOU MANAGE?) Thursday is the Big Shop, because we can at least pretend that the fresh eggs in the dessert are fresh, right? Friday is the Big Prep, because you know, animals? They come with bones. Bones are too crunchy to eat. And Saturday, is the Big Chaos. Mr. Organized is under the assumption that those not arriving by train will be here at Sparrow Fart. Ha! (Mr. Organized forgets that certain folks work Saturday morning, and others live far away, and even others have other things to do, things more important than wallowing in sheep dung while shaking apples off a tree, and still others have a combination or even all three of these things going on in their non-farm-related lives. Forgive him, but Mr. Organized hasn’t lived in the non-farm-related realm for entirely too long.) I don’t even want to think about Sunday. If I make it to the Big Sprinkle and the Big Feed afterwards I will consider myself extremely lucky. If not, maybe the dingleberry they elected to run this joint will open the church for my funeral.

Then again, that’s a sure-fire way to bring the roof down.

 
posted by Doc at 14:38 | Permalink |


9 Comments:


  • At 18:08, Anonymous Kim T.

    Happy Early 5th Anniversary! I hope everything goes well for you this weekend! I will be thinking of you! Don't stress TOO much!

    Kim T.

     
  • At 19:41, Blogger Samantha

    Woman, you are clearly insane. And boy, do I feel better about not being #41! Or maybe I feel worse, because at least then I could've helped you. Seriously, 41 people? I don't know how you do it. Or why! LOL I hate having more than 5 or 6 people over at a time. Is there any kind of salle des fêtes that you guys could use?

    PS. Ditto on the farm and the machines that break down all the time. I swear, Fab and his dad spend more time fixing those damn things than they actually do using them!

     
  • At 20:34, Blogger Antipodeesse

    I should be feeling sorry for you, but I'm too busy laughing!

     
  • At 20:35, Blogger Antipodeesse

    P.S. Shall we ask Ms. Mac to prepare a blogbituary for you? She's good at those!

     
  • At 22:20, Blogger Wendz

    I am too busy feeling jealous to sympathise.....naah not really :)...it all sounds just too much but I KNOW you'll sort it all and have a great time...I so wish I could be there....cannot tell you how I am ipning for France...fuck London is cool but it just ain't France.Damn.

     
  • At 16:46, Blogger Linda

    Years from now you will look back and think that the party was great. You might even find it so while it is occuring. I'm sure it will all come off and be great. You will just need a week to recover-like you will get that with three children.

     
  • At 21:30, Blogger Antipodeesse

    Am writing my liste de shopping now! Can't wait!

     
  • At 21:33, Blogger Antipodeesse

    Honey, just leave the frickin' bones in the chicken legs. We'll eat AROUND them!

     
  • At 13:47, Blogger J.

    Um, did you say 40 guests? I get my panties in a twist with five guests. I think it's a miracle that you're not in a corner rocking back and forth hysterically. Which is what I would have done.