I’m not ready to die.

True story.

So whenever possible, I like to avoid doing really risky or stupid things.

Most of the time.

This morning, however, I strayed from my usual play-it-safe-routine of coffee with Ann, Matt, and Al, and decided I’d live a little dangerously.

I was going to clean the top of my kitchen cabinets.

I know. Try to contain your jealousy.

Why is cabinet-top-cleaning dangerous? Because it’s greasy and dusty up there and when you are wearing only pa-jay-jays and slippers, you don’t have a lot of breast support or foot traction to nimbly maneuver from one counter top to the other.

More importantly, you’re probably wondering why I was going to tackle this project today of all days.

I mean, it’s the first day my kids all went back to school after winter break, PRAISE JEEEZUS. Even my middle-schooler couldn’t wait to get out of this house today. We were all a little stir crazy and I found myself holding my head in my hands yesterday and saying things to my husband like “Why didn’t we stop after one child?” and “I’m going to go upstairs and cry for a while, m’kay?”

But it’s January, which means it’s National Organization Month, in addition to National Stalking Awareness Month, National Dog Training Month, and National Bath Safety Month. Not making those up. It’s a mad mad world.

Anyway, my friend Lisa turned me onto a Decluttering Calendar that she’s going to follow. It gives specific bite-sized organizing tasks everyday for the whole year.

I thought I’d give it a try with her to see if maybe 2012 is the year I finally get my shit together.

“Declutter the top of your cabinets and dust” was actually the task for January 3rd. Yes, I’m a couple days behind. That’s okay. I’ll make it up later. (I hope.)

So there I was, in my slippers and flannel nightie, precariously perched like a dyslexic owl on the edge of my somewhat slick cooktop while holding a spray bottle, a rag, and a 22 quart copper pot that’s bigger than a prize-winning pumpkin… and it occurred to me, “If I fall, I could die.”

The only person home with me at the time was Bucket Head.

Honest to Pete.

Does this kid look like he’d be any good in a crisis?

In fact, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even be able to find the phone, much less dial 911 on purpose.

And if by chance, after a bad fall, assuming my giant copper pot didn’t land on my head and crush it like a ripe melon, I was able to drag my broken body to the phone and dial for emergency help, did I really want a crew of hot young paramedics seeing me in my morning glory?

Nope. I did not.

I have my priorities, you know.

Sorry Gracie, my trusty feline sidekick, this task will have to wait until The Gatekeeper gets home. It will be a lot easier with a human partner anyway.

But while I was thinking such morbid thoughts, I decided it would be a good idea to make it easier for a stranger to help me in case of an emergency.

I had read a tip somewhere over the break that if you lock your smart phone with a passcode and there’s an accident, the rescue crew responding to your emergency won’t be able to access your phone’s address book and see who your “ICE” (In Case of Emergency) contact person is.

Oh snap.

That would be bad.

So I made this in Picasa, downloaded it to my iPhone, and saved it as my lock-screen.

You should totally do that too; with your own picture and emergency contact info, of course.

Alrighty kids, let’s be safe out there. And if you can’t be safe, at least put on some clean britches and a little lipstick.

Your friend,


© Copyright 2012, The Bearded Iris. All rights reserved.