The Problem with Reminders

Last month I wrote about the four methods I use to help me remember stuff. But I didn't mention the ridiculous lengths I go to in order to remind my husband to do one simple thing almost every single day.

Here's the situation: We bought the three condos in our building with the intention of one day converting them into a single home. But right now, and for the next few years at least, we have these three separate condo units with separate kitchens, separate entrances, and separate electric and gas bills.

My husband goes to our top floor pretty much every night to work on his music. When he's not up there, we want to keep the thermostat waaay down—warm enough so that the pipes won't freeze, but low enough so that our heating bills don't bankrupt us. We do the same thing for our second level, which is where I work during business hours on the weekdays. Each morning I crank up the heat, and each day when I'm done I turn it back to 55. This practice is second nature to me now. I don't even have to think about it. I never forget to do it.

Unfortunately my husband hasn't made the "turning down of the heat" a routine yet. When we were hitting a total of $700 per month in gas bills across the three units, I totally spazzed out at him and found many creative ways to yell, "WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET YOU TO REMEMBER TO TURN DOWN THE HEAT?!?!"

But nothing I did worked. I'd go up to the third floor before I'd start my day and dammit if it wasn't warm and toasty up there, meaning that the furnace had been cranking nonstop throughout the night for absolutely no reason.

So then I started putting signs at his eye level on both the door our of the third-floor condo and the door at the end of our stairwell, thinking that would HAVE to work because he'd pass both on his way back downstairs. And it did for about a week. But then even those reminders failed and I'd find the thermostat at 70 in the morning.

I would email him before I knew he was coming down. I would call him. I would text him. Nothing was able to drive it into his head permanently.

My latest tactic is that I've taped a sign right onto the handle of the door he'll go out of so that it's really in his way. But honestly I still don't have faith that this is a permanent solution.

And then today I realized that he's become dependent on all of the nightly reminders I would text and email him to the point that he's ignoring the signs I've hung. He's not even consciously registering them. This notion hit me because I saw some article online about how "spring forward" is this weekend, and I had to laugh because I NEVER remember when the spring forward/fall back dates are on my own because for whatever reason, my mom still emails me reminders about turning our clocks to the right time on the day we're supposed to do this. If my mom stopped reminding me, I would be lost. I've become dependent on those messages twice a year.

So now I really don't know what to do to get my husband to internalize this heating-bill issue. If you're wondering why the aforementioned $700 wasn't enough, it's because I'm the one who actually pays our bills and manages the finances, so it's not front and center in his life. He's not "going without" because of that extra expense. He definitely does realize this is a huge problem and that it's solely his fault, yet he's just not putting those thoughts into repeatable actions every night.

Will publicly shaming him on the Internet like this do the trick? Stay tuned for next month's bill totals to find out! And does anyone else out there have an issue like this? Misery loves company...

- e

This Little Piggy Cried "Wee Wee Wee"

Last night I was out and about running errands, and the flyer below -- which was taped to the side of a newspaper-vending machine near a big neighborhood gym -- caught my eye.



I loved the "No, I'm not kidding" part. Immediately I pictured poor "Brian" to be a distraught father whose kid had misplaced his/her favorite stuffed animal... and now his entire household was suffering as a result. Crying fits, sleepless nights, and inconsolable grief are all Brian's to deal with until this situation is remedied. I mean, a $100 reward for something that clearly didn't even cost that much in the first place says to me that this guy is SERIOUS. He needs this toy back, dammit!

It reminded me of a time when I was young -- not sure how young, but I know I was still in elementary school -- when my beloved owl stuffed animal went missing after a sleepover my class (or maybe it was my Brownie (young Girl Scouts) troop?) had at a museum. My family and I were pretty sure that another little girl I knew had swiped my owl. Anyway, I was extremely upset by this, because -- as the Toy Story franchise has now proven -- I knew that my stuffed animals and toys actually came to life when no one was looking, and I couldn't bear the thought of my owl not being with her rightful family. (I don't think my owl was meant to be the one from the Winnie the Pooh crew, but if it was then that's doubly strange, considering the current "lost Piglet" situation. Maybe Pooh-related toys have a higher risk of being stolen? Somebody look into this, please.)

My parents and aunt went so far as to buy another owl stuff animal, make it look like someone had cut part of the fluffs of hair by its ears (this was to keep me from doubting that it was really MY owl), and then write an apologetic note from the anonymous thief. The note and the owl were left in a box on our front porch. In my heart I always knew it wasn't my owl, but back then I think I let myself believe that it was just so I could make peace with the situation. Recently on Facebook I have reconnected with the person I believe really stole the owl (no, I never confronted her), so clearly I'm over it. I think. I bet my mom and aunt would still like to read her the riot act, though!

I sincerely hope that Brian finds his kid's Piglet and is saved from concocting a far-fetched story to accompany its replacement. He's obviously a great dad, so I'm positive he's going to do whatever it takes to make his kid feel better. Let's hope this particular little piggy does indeed find his way home.