Type B does time management

The busy season at work in Milwaukee was SO busy that even the hardcore list-making, iPhone-toting, coffee & Diet Coke-swilling, get-to-work-at-6:00-a.m. Type As had a difficult time deciding where to begin. Because there were a million starting places and, by 8:10 a.m., at least 5 people needed your day to start with them.

I remember looking at my desk most mornings - reports, agendas, to-do lists, half-completed letters and a stack of newspapers to review - and helplessly reflecting on every elementary school report card I ever received. "Uses Time Wisely?" "Check minus." ..Check minus was the best it ever got.

Around that time, I had an epiphany read somewhere that the key to most productively starting each day is to imagine that you'll only be in the office for 30 minutes. What would you do first? Whatever that thing is, do it first.

It revolutionized my mornings at work and the principle has carried over to my stay-at-home momhood more than I would have thought.  When Hurricane Harper goes down for her afternoon nap, I stare bleakly at the million things that should be done and... do them.

However, I don't always prioritize correctly, like this weekend when we were expecting company. While I was fairly content with our home's current state, I determined that - because it's Cheerios mating season (how ELSE do they get everywhere?) - the den rug should be vacuumed, the kitchen trash should be taken out and that I wanted the house to smell like cookies (?!...?).

Now, Harper was sleeping, so I couldn't vacuum.  ..and we have an insane pack of raccoons living in our yard, so I couldn't take out the trash until the last minute. In a total Cher Horowitz-has it-together moment, I dashed out of the house and sped to the grocery store to buy some cookie dough. ..knowing I could do my other two items as soon as I got home.

And, thanks to my sweet time management skillz, our very good friends arrived to watch football while I was at the grocery store. 

My darling husband ushered them into our home, right by the the vacuum whose cord was undone like a family of hungry serpents, by the open door to our attic where three bags of trash were piled (raccoons, y'all! crazy ones!) and into our den where, I'm sure, audible crunches could be heard under their shoes.

Check minus.  Check minus, indeed.