Keeping the promises that I make to myself | Or: Thoughts While Pooper Scoopering
If you ever want to know what adulthood is like, imagine my morning: I’m pooper scoopering my backyard while simultaneously doing multiple loads of laundry inside the house. Both involve piles of dirty ish of questionable origin, making me wonder how in the world my small family of two adults and two pets created so much junk.
While pooper scoopering is not the most glamorous activity, it’s amazing the amount of thinking that I can do while scanning the yard for dirty bombs. Which leads me to...
At the recommendations of several people from the internets, I finally broke down and purchased Girl, Wash Your Face on my Kindle. I was #57 on the wait list at the library, and I couldn’t wait until social security kicked in to read this book. I’m about 50% through the book and while it’s a tiny bit religious at times for me, I’m getting a lot out of the it. One chapter that I found myself shaking my head yes to and highlighting like a mad woman focuses on the promises that you make to yourself and then break. I do this all the time.
Last summer I bought this scoop and promised myself that I would take care of doody duty at least once a week. Yardwork is typically my husband’s forte, but I thought I’d throw him a bone and do our olfactory nerves a favor. The stink was in the air. So I dutifully scooped the poop… ONCE. Just once. When I’d think to do it the next week, it was too hot. Then it was too rainy. Or I was tired. My excuses stank just about as bad as the poo in our backyard (that my husband eventually took care of).
Flash forward to last weekend. My family was coming into town and I didn’t want a yard full of poo and gross apples from our neighbor’s tree that branches into our yard. So I apple and pooper scooped our yard like a mad woman. A solid hour later, our yard bin smelled like doody and rotten apples. Gross, but I’m being real here. I figured that would be the end of our pooper scooper chronicles until sometime next summer.
But this morning the words of Rachel kept coming back to me and I decided to do my doodie duty:
And if that wasn’t enough motivation, yesterday we visited the End of the Oregon Trail Museum. It’s a place I’ve wanted to visit for a long time, but have never managed to make it happen. It was a fascinating museum and worth a look if you ever find yourself in the Portland area, but one thing really stuck out to me: journeying across the country on the Oregon Trail was tough, especially on women (and even more so on the indigenous people who live here first — don’t want to lose focus on that, but that deserves another post in and of itself).
Women gave birth on the trail and had to do all of their normal duties to take care of their children and families all while traveling 20 miles on foot every day… yet many still managed to write in the diaries at night by candlelight after their families had went to sleep.
So if they can manage to do all of that, then surely I can pooper scoop our yard once a week and keep writing my blog posts on the regular.