Clutter

I was reading this post by Melody Godfred about needing to rid yourself of clutter. (Even if you don't want to read it, click through to see the picture. I got a good laugh out of it.) This is a good reminder for me, because I am easily distracted. I can blame a certain amount of it on the kids, but I also have my mother's gift of paper hoarding. And this includes paper in the form of books and magazines, of which I have many untidy piles. I keep saying that I need to make more time to read, but never get around to it. I have at least five books that I've started to read but only got as far as chapter two before leaving it to collect dust on the nightstand. I want to fit more time for writing into my life, and I have all these books waiting for me.
So I've decided to start reading, in order to clear my piles away. I know it seems convoluted to do this in order to make more time for writing, but it makes sense to me. (This is when my father shakes his head and calls me a Concrete Sequential, ha!)
And that's it, there is no other glamorous reason for this post. I just decided to drag you all along on my thought process. You're welcome.

Gifts

I haven't given much thought to blogging lately, being busy with life and motherhood and figuring out how they hide their socks in the couch without me catching them. I've also been writing again, which brings joy I can't describe. God has been nudging me about it for a while. And by a while I mean my entire life. But He also used my sister-in-law to give me more of a shove as well, which I appreciate. She gave me an amazing gift: a journal made from a repurposed vintage book.

It arrived in the mail a few hours after we received the news of Debby's passing. As I was flooded with grief and the harsh reminder of the brevity of life, this package arrived. Such a sweet gift, and I knew God was whispering to me the things I didn't want to hear yet. That we must always move forward, and that we never know when our appointed time will be. I can't waste the time that I have.

Tomorrow is Resurrection Sunday. I am awed to celebrate His gift to us.

Inspiration

I read this quote from Jon Acuff, who I swear I do not have a crush on even though I talk about him a lot, and it really moved me.

"If you're going to risk and maybe fail, fail at something that matters. Fail gloriously so that even in failure, lives change."

That's a pretty powerful idea, one that I will chew on for a few days I think. It goes along with my Reckless Abandon theme for the year. If God is for me, why should I be afraid?

This & That

OneWord - Hit the Go button and you're given a one word prompt.  You have sixty seconds to write about it. Oddly motivating.

Writing Prompts from Writer's Digest - Some very creative & fun prompts here.

Unphotographable - Word pictures.  Truly fascinating & enjoyable.

No more excuses!

I opened my mailbox today to find a nice chubby padded envelope waiting for me. I opened it up and it was a book! Any book makes me happy, but this one, oh my!  My lovely friend Chrissy sent me a book titled, Page After Page, by Heather Sellers.  The subtitle says, 'Discover the confidence and passion you need to start writing & keep writing, no matter what!'

I am ridiculously excited about this book! Could the timing be more perfect?  I was just saying the other day that I really want to write but don't know why I'm not. I'm just one chapter into this book and she's already addressing every single reason, excuse & fear that I have about writing.

Chrissy, you rock!  Thank you!

To Write, Perhaps

I find myself wondering if I am too happy to write.  I used to write all the time in high school and college, back when I was miserable. Dark and twisty and amazing stuff.  Now I live this relatively safe and boring life, and have nothing to write about.  Well not nothing, but only enough for a blog.  It's a weird place to be in.

So You Want To Write A Novel

This absolutely cracked me up and made my day!  Enjoy....

You are getting sleepy.....

{Yes, that is a picture of a sleepy Jesus in bunny slippers. And it totally kills me, so I had to share it.}

I keep thinking that I'm going to magically find time to write now that the kids are in school. But somehow this is not the case. I've been running from one place to the next, and our evenings are just plain nuts. The two nights that the kids have soccer practice are especially hairy.

It's 10pm, I finally have a quiet house in which to work.... and I'm instead going to go to bed. Which, for anyone who knows me, is just completely out of character. I normally go to bed at midnight, and usually watch tv for a half hour before falling asleep. Maybe I'm changing without even meaning to? I just know that this old girl is Ti. Errrrd. I've been walking almost every day with a friend, and we do about 3.7 miles. I've lost a few pounds (squee!) and am feeling really good health-wise. But by the end of the day, I am beat!

I will make time to write though! I will! Just not tonight. *yawn*

New Book Glee

I finally did something really smart to get myself on track with this whole writing career that I seem to think will magically happen all on it's own. (long sentence, I know, don't care) I ordered The Christian Writers' Market Guide for 2010. I have really always wanted to write novels, but the Small People have currently voted against this. So, it seems that smaller projects would be a wise place to at least get my feet wet. I've submitted articles twice to Mom Sense magazine and had both rejected. I was pleased that I actually buckled down and wrote and made the submissions though, so it wasn't too crushing when they weren't interested. (And if we're really being honest, I don't even like Mom Sense, so I don't know why I tried to write for them!)

I figure the Market Guide is a good place to start doing research and find some good options for article writing.

In the meantime, I'm off to visit Ms. Dashwood and find some good prompts to work on tonight....

How to Ensure that Parents of Your Fans Will Hate You

I read recently that Kanye West is anti-reading.  I thought at first that this had to be a joke, because who would be against reading?  But sadly, it's true.  As disturbing as this is, what's even more disturbing is that this genius has now written a book.  Umm... what?  Yes, the anti-book rapper has 'written' a book.  And 'written' gets air-quotes because 1) he doesn't believe in books and 2) he had to have someone co-author a book that consists of random quotes, 'Kanye-isms' and blank pages.

As Jen over at Cake Wrecks said, "After banging my head against the desk and weeping for future generations," I thanked God that my parents did not feel this way.  We were always encouraged to read and to write, and had our own library cards from a young age.  We read mysteries, autobiographies, and poetry, along with the Bible.  Some of my earliest memories are of my mom reading books to us on long car trips, and of my father making up stories to tell us at bedtime.  I am incredibly thrilled and proud that I have passed the reading bug on to the Princess, who plows through books at an amazing rate.  She read the entire Left Behind Kids series in about two weeks.

As Thomas Jefferson said, "I cannot live without books."  As a lifelong reader and an aspiring author, I have the urge to tack Kanye's picture on my dartboard.  The celebrity platform is a gift Mr. West, and you have clearly squandered yours.  Young people looking for good writing by a black author, skip Kanye's 'book' and instead check out someone worth reading, like Howard Thurman or Rosa Parks.

Writing Prompt: The Morning After

Prompt from Eliza Dashwood....

All sorts of things happen to people when they've had a few too many drinks. Try writing about a character that wakes up to find some strange items in their pockets. Have them retrace the night’s events. What happened and how did these items find their way into your character’s possession?

Locker key, Digital Camera, Match book, A chocolate egg, A cat’s flea collar and I.D. tag

Cordelia Swinson was a refined woman, full of good Southern breeding, a love of English tea, and perfectly pressed suits.  She was a lovely neighbor to have, keeping her home and yard neat and tidy, and cleaning up fastidiously after her teacup poodle.  If ever there was a woman of class and manners, it was Cordelia.  Which is probably why it was ever so stunning when she poured the bucket of cold water on me at 6 o'clock in the morning.  In her defense, it was my own fault, having passed out on her front porch smelling of bourbon and foolishness.  But that did little to lessen the shock of feeling waterboarded into wakefulness.  Opening my eyes, I looked at her with wide and wild eyes, not understanding through my fog what on earth could have brought her to this act.  She smiled down at me ever so sweetly, and cordially invited me to get off her porch swing and go back to the rock that had I crawled out from under.

I obliged as quickly as my stiff and sluggish body would allow me, straightening my suit coat and tie.  As I left the porch with downcast eyes, I stuffed my hands in my pockets, looking for my keys.  To my surprise, not only were they not there, but instead I seemed to have a random collection of items.  Not wanting to pull any of them out to examine them in sight of Mrs. Swinson, I kept walking.  I crossed the dew-damp grass to my house next door, wondering how I was going to get in without my keys.  I tried the door, knowing full well that I had locked it the night before.  I blew out a sigh of frustration, and headed around back to see if I could find a window to pry open.  Charlie barked at me, happy to see his owner, or at least happy to know he would soon be fed.

I felt in my pockets again, hoping the keys would somehow magically appear. I pulled out a cat's flea collar and ID tag.  Odd.  A memory dawned of Mrs. Swinson's cat leaping onto me in the wee hours.  In my efforts to fling the cat off of me in haste, his collar had come off in my hands.  I made a mental note to return the collar later.  Maybe it would be best to just drop it in her mailbox and avoid that awkward conversation.  As I put the collar back in my pocket, I was relieved to feel the coldness of a brass key, and took it out.  I looked at it, and realized that it was not a house key, but a locker key.  What in the world?  A hazy memory of putting quarters into a bus station locker floated in my mind.  Why had I been at the bus station last night?

As I dropped the key back in my pocket, I contemplated the windows on the back of the house. Thinking that surely at least one must be unlocked, I looked around for something to stand on.  Ah yes, a lawn chair was leaning against the shed, that would do.  I unfolded it, and held onto the aluminum arms as I gingerly stepped up.  The flaw in my plan became immediately clear, as my right foot slipped in between the nylon straps of the seat, sending me flying backwards into a heap.  My ungraceful dismount not withstanding, I was still pretty certain I could make the chair work for my purpose.  Dusting myself off, I noticed that a chocolate egg had rolled out of my pocket. It seemed wise to eat something to raise my blood sugar, so I unwrapped the foil.  As I ate the waxiest piece of 'chocolate' that I had ever experienced, I noticed some writing on the inside of the foil.  I spread it out with my fingers and read, 'Mr. Wong's, Open 24 Hours'.  Interesting.

I put the chair back in place, a bit more careful this time to make sure it was on level footing.  Success!  The chair held and I had found an unlocked window on the first try.  I had my first leg through the opening when I noticed Mrs. Swinson in the corner of my eye.  My little wave at her did nothing to remove her puzzled expression, but thankfully she went back to her plant watering.  I shoved myself through the window pretty quickly after that, and landed in my kitchen with about as much grace as my previous fall.  I didn't care at this point though, as I was just grateful to be back in my house.  Charlie was overjoyed to see me, and pledged his undying love as I filled his food dish.  Loosening my tie I threw it on the counter and hit the play button on the answering machine.  As my mother's voice filled my ears I headed for the coffee maker and got it ready.  Coffee would be needed this morning more than ever, as I needed to clear my head and figure out what had happened the night before.  Mom rambled on about all the usual topics; her health, Sunday dinner, my failure to provide grandchildren and Uncle Peter's goiter.  I tuned out most of her rambling as I measured out coffee grounds.  The machine beeped at the end of her message, and a second one began.  

"Mr. Harkmen, this is Candy.  We met at the bar last night?  I forgot my camera and I was wondering if maybe you had picked it up.  Please call me back, my number is....."  I felt in my other pocket, and sure enough, I had a small digital camera.  I set it on the counter and wrote down Candy's number.  Her voice had reminded me that I had gone to Mr. Wong's last night, and sat in the cocktail lounge for a while.  Candy had been waiting for someone who never showed, and she chattered on endlessly to me about school, and photography and trying to 'find herself'.  She was cute, but way too young, and really, she barely took a breath as she gabbled on.  That must have been why I ordered more bourbon, to numb myself to the squeaky sound of her voice.

I poured myself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.  I emptied my pockets completely, laying their contents on the table.  The items all seemed to make sense now, with the exception of a book of matches.  Where had they come from?  Probably Mr. Wong's, since Candy was a smoker, and I lit her cigarette for her.  I looked at the cover, surprised to see that it instead read, 'Randy & Julie, March 25th, 2009.'

I was instantly flooded with memories and realization.  I had been invited to Julie's wedding, but hadn't planned to attend.  Who wants to see their ex-girlfriend get married?  But she wanted to stay friends and be grown-ups about it, so surely I could be mature enough to attend.  It wasn't until I saw Julie coming down the aisle in her pure white gown, looking stunning and gloriously happy, that I truly realized what I had lost.  I was still in love with her, and how could I sit there and let her go?  As the ceremony began, I squirmed in my seat, thinking fast.  As the minister came to the point of asking if anyone objected, I was filled with resolve.  This was my moment!  I stood up, and shouted my objection!  I beamed at Julie, waiting for her response.  This was the time when she would realize how wrong we had been to break up.  She would throw down her bouquet and run to me, and we would run back down the aisle, and burst out the double doors into our sunshiney future.

Alas, Julie simply turned red and stared at me.  Randy put his hand over his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.  The minister coughed nervously.  As every single person in the church turned to stare at me, Julie turned away, looking directly at the minister, making her intent clear.  She really was going to marry him.  Heartbroken and humiliated, I slumped back down in my seat.  As soon as the ceremony was over, I slipped out through the crowd and left.  Unable to face my empty house just yet, I turned onto Beecher Street and headed for Mr. Wong's.  The haze lifting, I remembered all those emotions, and knew I had been drinking away my thoughts of Julie, rather than trying to drown out the bubbly girl at the bar.  Some things would have to remain a mystery however, because I simply could not account for that locker key.  Maybe I had gone to the bus depot to flee the scene?  Make a run for the border?  Who knows.  I'd have to go down there later to see what I may have stashed.  Maybe the wedding gift I had brought, or my sanity perhaps.

I put my head in my hands on the table and sighed.  What an idiot I had been.  The answering machine had continued on, though I had stopped listening.  I sat up straight when I heard Randy's voice.

'Hi John.... it's.... Randy.' Long pause. 'Listen, I just wanted to say that I forgive you for what happened at the church yesterday.  I knew you probably still had feelings for Julie, but I had no idea you still felt so strongly.  Listen man, if I had known, we wouldn't have pushed you to attend.  I mean, I know Mom wanted you there and all, but..... Look, I just called to say that it's ok, and we still love you and we'll see you at Easter dinner.  Bye.'

The sound of my brother's voice was a bit comforting, but I doubted that I would have the courage to face the family at the holiday dinner.  I dread spending the holiday alone, but really, how could I see my sister-in-law again so soon?  I poured myself another cup of coffee, and wondered if Mrs. Swinson had any plans.

Blogs I Read

I am really excited about the new blog listing feature down there on the right. Probably too excited. But anyone who knows me knows how very much I like to organize and arrange things, and the new tool is way better than the old way of just a list of links. I'm also considering changing some of my format, because I am just not crazy about the black and white text on brown. Thoughts anyone?

I decided to go through my list while I was at it, and remove one or two that I have stopped reading (or they have stopped writing), and also add a few that I've begun reading recently. The first is Bring the Rain, a blog that Amy told me about. I'll let that one speak for itself, and just say that if you do go read, be sure to start from the beginning, and bring tissues.

Another new one on my list is written by a gentleman I knew in college, Valentine Brkich. His blog, which consists of articles he has written for The Point North magazine, is about his new adventure into fatherhood. He is truly funny and endearing. You may look at his last name and think what one of our college professors thought, that he needed to buy a vowel. Or you may recognize his name and wonder if he is related to another Brkich that you've seen on TV. Being a person of odd last names myself (both maiden and married, oy), I think his last name is just fine, and I'm sure we'll be seeing more of him in the days to come.

I also added another college acquaintance, Tom Ayres, who happens to be a fraternity brother of Val. His most recent entry about how he knows he's competitive had me in stitches.

I have more blogs to add, but I need to go find them in the laptop and haven't had the time to do so. I have a pile of blogs about writing and publishing that I've been reading but don't have them saved on the Sticky Thing, so they must wait.

We're leaving for the campground after the kids get out of school today, so I'll be back on Monday. I said a while ago that I would post about my miscarriage, and have been in the process of editing. I'll put it up next week.

Writing Prompt: Object Description

Creative Writing Prompts
#1 Close your eyes briefly. Think of one object that's in the room and focus on it. Without opening your eyes, recall as much detail as you can about it. After three minutes or so, open your eyes and write about that object without looking at it.

My Coffee Table
Our long homey table sits surrounded by carpet and toys, hovering near the couch and recliner. I sometimes put my feet on it but it's main purpose is the storage of crap we don't want the kids getting into. That crap being videos and photo albums.

The table isn't actually a table at all, but rather an old cedar chest. It's a beautiful color and I love how it looks. How it smells however, is another matter. It stinks. Someone who was unfamiliar with how cedar chests work put moth balls in it at some point in it's history. So instead of a lovely cedar smell when you open it, it reeks like grandma's attic. It is, however, blissfully free of moths. Which given the mostly plastic contents, is pretty much to be expected anyway. I'm not sure how moths feel about old VHS tapes, but they don't seem to pay any more attention to them than we do. Perhaps they prefer Beta.

I'm not sure how long it is, I'd say maybe five feet? The top is made of long smooth boards fitted seamlessly together. It has some wooden 'handles' at the end which are amusing, because who has an arm span that wide, and who is able to pick up something so heavy even empty, with their arms spread that way? It has tiny little feet with tiny little wheels which are mostly useless given the size of the chest. They do raise the chest about four inches off the ground though, comfortably allowing the stowing of full sippy cups, dust bunnies, toys, remote controls, and any other object that we tend to lose and fret about in this house.

We came to own this particular piece of furniture when it was left here by a former roommate of ours. I'm glad that he left it, even with it's aroma. I much prefer old and worn wooden furniture over pretty much anything that Raymour & Flanigan is mass producing these days.

Clayton's Desk

It's a lovely morning and I'm sitting with my second cuppa whilst I dream of a room all my own. I can't remember if I've talked about my room or not, but I like to gabble about it. I have many hopes and dreams for that little room. Currently it is mostly the nursery, where the Barnacle and his mountains of clothes are housed. (I counted his pants at one point and he had like 39 pairs of pants. It's ridiculous.)(No, I don't shop too much, they are 99% hand-me-downs.) It is also where my desk is. And when you read the words 'my desk' you need to accompany them in your mind with trumpets and angelic voices. It is thee most fantastic desk and I love it.

It's old and worn and stained, and came from my step-grandfather, a man I only knew for a short time, but truly adored. I have great plans to write my novel at this desk. However, it being in the nursery presents the problem. I can really only write with some semblance of peace and quiet, and I can only get that semblance when the baby is asleep.... but of course he sleeps in that room. So for now I must write on my lap in the living room, which is hardly a romantic or quiet spot but will have to do until the Barnacle is old enough to share a room with his brother upstairs.

So for now the desk has piles of stuff on it, and laundry to be put away, and so forth. It will remain my great treasure for now, waiting to be used and adored. The room itself will develop around the desk when the time comes. My sister bought me thee cutest wallpaper border to use someday - red bandanas! Oh it makes a cowgirl's heart sing. I also have my sewing table in there, and some Rubbermaids full of fabrics and projects. When we were clearing out my grandmother's house last summer I found some quilting projects she had started, and I carefully saved every little vintage scrap of fabric she had cut out. I'll have to blog about that at some point, as the fabrics are really amazing.

I'm also giving thought to what I will call the room when it's all mine. It won't be the nursery anymore, but I don't want to be lame and just call it My Office. It will also be a Sewing Room, so an office title wouldn't work. I'll have to think about it. I certainly have the time!

Writing Prompt: He Said, She Said

Writing Prompt: Eliza Dashwood
Try this, write a scene using nothing but dialogue. Set it in a cafe, between two people whispering in a darkened cinema or maybe a couple in bed talking with the lights out. Above all, create conflict, discourse and resolution without describing the outside world or our heroes. Try it in 500 words, and see what they say.


I don't think I followed the directions exactly, but once I went in one direction I found it hard to go back without losing the overall feeling I was building. Writing a dialogue only, with nothing extra, I found extremely hard.
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Audrey turned off the bathroom light and walked across the room, her feet leaving the wood floor one at a time and slipping under the covers quietly. It was no use, he was still awake. She could tell by his breathing and could feel the tenseness through the cold mattress.

She coughed a little, almost ready to speak and defend herself once more, but stopping herself. John made the sighing sound he always made when he was mentally worn out, and she imagined he must be rubbing his forehead in the dark.

"I want to forgive you but I need to understand why."
"Why?" she said a little too quickly, feigning innocence, knowing what his answer would be.
"Why it was ok for you to hide this from me. Why it was ok to make the decision without me."
"You know why I did it," she replied flatly, looking sideways at nothing in the dark.
"I don't, really. I know what your 'good intentions' were, but that isn't enough Audrey." His voice was accusing, and not tired anymore.
Audrey faltered, not sure how to answer her husband. It was so easy to justify oneself when you only had yourself to talk to about it. Having the conversation with another person was much more complicated. She pulled the sheet tight under her chin, hiding under it.
"I can't make you understand how it felt for me John, to be in the position I was in. I thought I could fix it."
John snorted and Audrey pulled her arms closer to her body.
"You don't 'fix' it Audrey. It's not 'fixable'. It's not like that."
"That's how you feel about it. That wasn't how I felt about it. I thought I could protect you, I thought -"
"Hide it from me, you thought you could hide it from me, that I would never know." John sat up in the bed, elbows on his knees. His voice was uneven; Audrey wondered if he were crying.
"It's easy for you to box it up that way John, but that's not how it was. It's not fair to make me the bad guy."
"What does fair have to do with it? And don't put the fair label into this equation unless you want me to put it right back on you Audrey. What you did wasn't fair to anyone."
"I wish that I could say that I would go back and change it for you, John. But for me, for us, I did what I thought was right at the time. I chose a future for us. I did what I could."
John sat silent. He muttered something she couldn't hear.
Audrey sat up too, touching his arm. He didn't move. She couldn't stand that he wouldn't respond to her touch, and she retreated.
"John," she said softly. "John, I didn't do it to hurt you. I know that it did, but I thought that ending it would help us. We weren't ready. We had plans. You said you didn't want to end up like your parents."
In the dim light of the room, Audrey tried to read her husband's downcast face.
"I don't know how to forgive you for this," he said quietly.
"I can't make you."
"I know."
"I need you to though."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"John."
John said nothing else. Audrey despaired, the magnitude of what she had done so long ago pressing down on her head. She didn't want to admit that she was sorry. She didn't want to tell him how much she hurt, how much she had regretted it. She needed him to tell her it was ok, that he could forgive her, that they could move on. She had to remain cold about it or she knew she would come apart.
John laid back down and the silence was more than Audrey could bear.
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Audrey is a character I've had for many years. John is a substitute character I made up because the usual husband I've used for Audrey was too easy going for this dialogue.

I have no title

I have such writer's block that I cannot even think of a title. How sad. The whole reason I started the blog was to have a convenient way to get back into writing, and to not have any excuses for slacking off. But instead I turn it into just a place to gabble about my kids and daily nonsense, which is all fine and good, but gets me nowhere in the big picture. I know, I need the practice, blahhh.

I was thinking about my book and wondering where it is. That's even sadder yet. I have it on disk someplace, but I don't know where. Since we got the two most recent computers, neither of which have floppy drives, I can't easily access the book, since it's on one of those ancient square disks someplace. So I need to dig that out TODAY and use the old dinosaur up in the Princess' room so I can burn it onto a disk actually made in this decade. I think if I can work on it on the laptop I will putter with it more frequently, and grease my gears so to speak.

And let's be perfectly honest here, the book is maybe only 3 chapters at this point? If that? I need to move beyond the cocktail napkin stage and get on with it.

Oh, and I just thought of something marvelous! *but wait, hold that thought, as I see the Barnacle wandering the living room with the toilet plunger.... oh wait, the Boy stole it and put it back.... well that was fun to watch play out* Ok, so the marvelous thing - we just had our taxes done this past week and will have our moolah a week from today! And it's higher than we expected, squee! I have plans to finally get Microsoft Word put on the laptop! (I could blog a whole separate post on how I think it's crap that I paid big bucks for a computer with an operating system that I hate that didn't even come with Word.) I definitely need Word on the laptop so I can open documents for the church newsletter that I edit, and then I could also use it to work on the book.

Stream of consciousness blogs are a bit hairy, arent' they?

Rusty

I think my whole thing with wanting this blog is just that I want to write, I need to write, and I am so rusty it's pathetic. I always wanted to be a writer, and I know the Lord has given me some talent in this area. I just have allowed myself to hear the negative voice instead of the positive one, that tells me I am not good enough, I am not able, I will never be published... If I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, and I really do believe that, then why do I make excuses for this? Why do I still assume that when my kids are all in school, that I'll go back to doing data entry for 11 bucks an hour, instead of writing? Why is it that when I think about going back to get my degree, I consider Biblical studies instead of writing? I really do feel passionately about Biblical study, and I do want to learn so much more of the Bible, but I know it's also a way to avoid writing, which is what I really want to do.

So for now I'll use the bloggity for whatever writing pops into my head, and have no excuses. No worries about what anyone will think when they read it, because for now no one will except for me and God. I'm sure I'll share it at some point, but at least for now I'm getting the ball rolling....

The very first blog

Well here it be. I have wanted a blog for a while now, but kept thinking that I didn't need one. And I don't really, as I have a family web site where I gabble on about all of our comings and goings, and I have MySpace to keep in touch with friends and use adolescent sparkly graphics. So I really don't need a blog, another thing to keep up with and fuss over. Maybe it's an early Christmas present to myself. Maybe it's where I can *really* let my hair down. Maybe I just don't need a reason?? Maybe I'm too lazy to find my journal file on my old computer?

It's Christmas Eve. The kids and I are all still in our jammies. We put together and decorated the gingerbread house today. The Man did most of the work with them, and then I helped use up the last of the bag of toothpastey icing. Got lots of icing on our hands and into our mouths, mmm. The tree looks festive, with most of the ornaments hanging the requisite 30 inches from the ground, to protect them from the Barnacle's little hands. The cat keeps drinking the water out of the pot thinger and the Man and the kids take turns swatting him. I gave up; like I really need someone else to yell at about something fruitless, as we all know he can just climb under there and suck it all up while we sleep. Much like he comes and lays his bum on my countertops when I'm not there to throw things at him. It's a futile fight to disagree with a kitty.
We'll go to church at 7pm tonight, and the kids will sing - well, the Princess will sing anyway, the Boy isn't interested in the stage, whether for lack of interest or courage we don't know. It's always noisy at that 'family' service since there's no nursery coverage and the toddlers don't know what to do with themselves. The paparazzi (read: mothers with video cameras) will do their best to sit on the aisle near the front to get barely lit footage of their child. I love our church videos, even if they are so hard to see. :)
Welp, off to run bath water and get us moving. More later.

*note* all the entries before this date were transferred from elsewhere.