I am a list maker. I start every Sunday by making a day to day list of everything I have to do for the upcoming week. Not only does this help me remember what I have to do  but it also motivates me. If I have a burst of energy on a Monday and get all that day's chores accomplished I can proceed into Tuesday's tasks and maybe even get that day's list completed too. Then I can take Tuesday off or make a another list, adding more stuff to do, just to challenge myself.

I do lists for my best friend too. He'll say, “Deb, make a note of what I have to do tomorrow and call me so I won't forget. And make a list of the groceries and things we need around the house.”

Sometimes I even make list of of lists I need to make. I can't type or file but I do believe I'd make a very sufficient personal secretary.

Getting my son motivated is on my to do list. After 16 years of non-stop schooling I can understand needing a little break. I know, because I decided to take a little break after college, too and two children and many years later I'm still on break, sitting here wondering what I should've and could've done with my life. I'm not about to let that happen to him.

Laziness sets in and that is something I cannot abide. I took a  male friend to my best friend's house last week for a day of manly chores. I didn't have anything to do and could have sat there all day with my coffee and watched them weed eating, mowing, using the chain saws- etc., but I couldn't. Not one to rest on my laurels, I got up and cleaned the house. When I got finished and still had time on my hands, I took the trash out and thoroughly scrubbed the garbage can.

When I got home around midnight, exhausted, I found my trash can not just full but over flowing. Then there was trash piled upon the stove. Seems I'm the only one capable of taking out the trash. I can't just politely and civilly ask my family to do anything. I have to get irate, rant and rave, use the four letter words, and foam at the mouth. Then someone will finally say, “Uh Oh, Mama's mad.”

Why is it mothers baby their sons anyway? Is it because we know that the male species is inept or is it just our maternal instincts?

My mother is one of the worst offenders. She'll look at my brothers and say, “What does my little bitty baby boys want me to fix for supper?” or “Do you want me to wash your hair for you, honey?”

Now, I can see doing that for my grandson, but my brothers are 39 & 48 years old! My sister and I just look at each other and say, “S'cuse me, but we're hungry too, and our hair is dirty.”

Why is it that men don't seem to worry like women do and they can fall asleep at the drop of a hat? When my children were sick and I stayed up all night with them trying to get their fever down or if nothing else, just rocking and consoling them. My husband would say, “Nothing I can do here, might as well go to bed.”

When they were teenagers and out past their curfew, I'd be up pacing the floor until they were home or accounted for. My husband- off to bed. When I'd hear a siren I'd check to see who was home and who wasn't. Even there is nothing to worry about it still takes me hours to get back to sleep at night.

Late at night when its quiet and peaceful is when I do my best thinking. My husband on the other hand is snoring before his head even hits the pillow.

Men also think they know everything and can't admit when they're wrong. I can ask my husband a question and I can actually see his mind searching for some kind of an answer when a simple 'I don't know' would suffice.

My Dad could actually remember events (his version of course) from 50 years ago. He could tell you the exact day it happened and if the sun was shining or not. I don't care to admit hen I'm wrong. I've always started my car turning the key and applying the gas simultaneously. Lately my car has not wanted to start and my husband kept telling me to turn the key without giving the car any gas. I tried it and so far this week its been starting fine. I do believe I was wrong and that's fine with me. I'm just gals my car is running.

Man bashing was not on my list of things to write about this week but since I've seemed to gravitate there let me say that I think it should be mandatory for men to wear make-up. I have a friend that wears foundation, powder and a little mascara, and I must say that he's visually stunning. That is until he gets home in the evening and removes his make-up- then it's a bit disappointing. I now know how men feel when they see us in our “natural form”.

Why do some people get clinically depressed in the winter months, while others thrive? Why do some get up with the chickens and others stay up all night? Why do some people prefer outdoor activities while other remain indoors? Are these things chemical, biological or something else?

I'm a nightowl. No matter how little sleep I've gotten the night before, I always get a second wind and perk up in the evening hours and no matter how much sleep I've gotten I just cannot do mornings. I hate the summer months. I burn up, have no energy and am tired all the time. In the winter months I perk up and feel alive and energetic. I very rarely turn our heat on.

My mother gets very depressed and would actually like to hibernate during the winter months. She prefers the heat of summer when she can be outside with her flowers and garden.

If I never saw the outside I'd be perfectly content and happy.  If I go outside, there isn't a bug that won't find me and have their way with me. It's always hot and I find myself wondering what I'm missing on the boob tube.

If I had to mow the grass it wouldn't get done. There are advantages to the grass growing up ever over your house. It would provide much needed shade and would most likely keep robbers from breaking in. Even if they could see your home through the overgrown grass they'd think, 'These people can't even afford a lawnmower, they don't have anything valuable to steal.'

I admire people who have flowers in their lawns. I also have flowers- they're called weeds. They're much hardier and don't demand as much care. I don't have to pull stuff away from them, don't have to water them or re-pot them. They flourish all by themselves. And,  they're perennial- they come back year after year. Some of them are quite lovely too. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The Star is clean, my article finished, the trash taken out, and my son up and slightly motivated. I've checked my list and I'm way ahead of myself this week. So, I'm going to add something to my list that I unfortunately and rarely get to do. I'm going to keep my grandson tonight.

That needs to become more of a priority on my list instead of getting the Star clean or my article written.

We'll probably go outside (ugh) and pick a bouquet of weeds as a center piece for our fine dining of ice cream, cookies, and candy. Then I may out some makeup on him so he can get in touch with his feminine side. We'll watch educational reality shows, and discuss the future (or lack thereof) of the Republican party. Around 2 am we'll make our pallets on the floor and turn in for the night.

Till next time- Forward Ho