I was casually scrolling through a home maintenance newsfeed the other day and clicked on an article about how to sanitize a stainless-steel sink. I was certain that a simple and frequent soap scrubbing with a non-abrasive sponge would do the trick. The reality was somewhat more complex, and the author recommended that it occur every twelve days.
I do not know about you, but I do not have the bandwidth to do anything at twelve-day intervals, much less add one more “should” to my life that has such a low return on investment.
I have kind of nailed the daily mandates: exercise, hygiene, work, dog walking, car charging, flossing, skin care, dishes, and a healthy diet with conscientious water consumption. I am mostly diligent about medical check-ups, though even annual exams seem to arrive with increasing frequency. Twice-a-year dental appointments are not so bad; at least I am not summoned every 90 days like the veterinarian does for our older dog. Health care providers must love me. When the receptionist politely inquires if I want to schedule my next consultation, I always say yes though I have absolutely no clue what might conflict with a mammogram booked for 7:30 a.m. on a random day in May 2022.
Work schedules are so easy in comparison; time-tested internal procedures ensure that court dates, conference calls, and motion deadlines are calendared in duplicative systems as “encouraged” by our malpractice insurance carrier. Paying personal bills is simplified now that I am less suspicious of automatic bill payment systems. (Though when our credit card got hacked recently, it was annoying to contact creditors to give them a new account number.)
But the household obligations are killing me. I agree that I should clean the furnace filter and check smoke and CO2 detectors every month, but I draw the line at inspecting electrical cords, cleaning showerheads to remove mineral deposits, and vacuuming heat vents every thirty days. I could set Outlook reminders for those tasks to remind myself to do them, but I refuse to. It is so much easier to drop not-so-subtle hints to my husband at random times until he tires of hearing them and succumbs.
But I have some personal to-do’s that I wish I could get done; I guess I need a procrastination hack. When my kids were young, I tried to change their behavior with logical consequences. This term is a fancy way of telling Child A that if you do not stop torturing Child B, I will send you to your room. When Child A does not stop, he gets sent to his room, howling with outrage. You let Child A out of confinement shortly thereafter when he makes it clear that he is learning nothing from this exercise, and, besides, his hollering is driving you crazy. (Despite the recommendations of learned psychologists, I became more of a carrot than a stick parent, bribing my children to productive young adulthood.)
I am incrementally more evolved than a seven-year-old. Instead of logical consequences for adult dithering, I need to fashion delayed gratification rewards. If my Starbucks app shuts down until I shave my legs, my legs will be Bermuda-shorts ready all the time. I am quite sure that if my kids refuse to meet me for dinner unless I sort through my running clothes drawer to get rid of things I do not wear, it will get done in a jiffy. If the HGTV channel is inaccessible until I order a new iPhone, I will quickly bite the bullet on a desperately needed new model.
But I am drawing the line on sanitizing the kitchen sink every twelve days. Unless, of course, I place the dark chocolate covered almonds in a vault that only unlocks when the task is done.