A President's Day Note Which Has Nothing Much to Do with President's Day

Once, and it may have been the first time I got a paid 3 day weekend, I was telling JP how excited I was and he was excited for me too until he realized that he was basically paying for my day off. Now whenever I have a holiday he's bitter.

Not really.




Sorta he is.

So at this time I would like to thank all of you who are still gainfully employed and therefore still paying taxes for giving me the day off. Because I really need it. And I promise to use the time productively...which will in this instance include sleeping in ('k, already did that) and some well-deserved lying around not doing anything. I pledge to you, oh tax payer, that by the end of the day I will have recharged my batteries, cleaned up all my cobwebs and spent quality time with The Child that was NOT spent yelling at her. I also solemly vow to you that I will do all this (and all my nothing as well) with a heart full of gratitude toward you, the taxpayers of America, for allowing me this day to rest, reflect, redeem and restore.

God bless America.

Can You Believe it's December Already?

There was a whole chunk of the night last night where I wasn't sleeping. The Spouse's alarm didn't go off which meant that when mine did the first words out of his mouth were not exactly lyrical and soothing. And perhaps I should say a word about my alarm clock.

I had a radio alarm, but the reception on my side of the room was hideous and I could never get anything beyond a very irritating hummy buzz of noise when it went off. Which was very annoying, especially since The Spouse's alarm always goes off to the dulcet tones of Steve Inskeep. So I bought a Baby Ben...a clock that is so retro it has to be wound every night. It has an absolutely appalling ring. In fact, to call it a "ring" is to insult all the bells in Christendom. It makes a gross, rattling tone that grabs you by the vitals and throws you out of bed. But it's effective.

Point is, the day did not begin with promise and yet I feel perfectly happy and content. Perhaps it's to do with the loveliness of yesterday, the first day of Advent. Church was lovely, the day was lovely (very foggy but nifty in that). We worked together to clean the house within an inch of its life, I bought 75 ft of sweet smelling garland to swag all the front windows of the house and we had a nice dinner last night which included an Advent prayer time that set the tone for the season. Plus, I got to open the first window on the Advent calendar, which meant chocolate.

So yeah, I'm a little tired and am pretty sure that massive quantities of coffee will be required today but it's all good.

Just a Note

Even though I honestly have absolutely no expectation of finding my ruby, I carefully search the sweepings up before tossing them away. I've found a lot of dog fuzz, plenty of mown grass and quite an astonishing lot of glitter. Which twinkles. Momentarily raising my minimal-to-non-existent expectations. But that's all.

On the plus side, my floors are really clean.

Cleaning Up

The Child had a friend over after school yesterday, to work on the Constitutional Scavenger Hunt project. I'd asked her to pick up her room but her version of clean and mine are not in sync.

"That's not exactly clean," I said. (One couldn't walk from one end to the other and actually touch the floor).

"It's not like we'll be in there," she replied. (I'd already told her they were working at the dining table so I could be sure they were on task).

"Yes, but don't you want to make a nice impression?"

She shrugged.

"What will you pay me to clean it?" I asked.

She beamed. "50 cents - which is all I have. And a really cute bookmark. It has a kitty on it".

Now, it isn't often someone pays me all they have PLUS a cute kitty bookmark so I donned my HazMet suit and went in.

First layer: dirty laundry and general trash. Clearing that out made a big improvement right away. Then I sorted. A lot of the mess was stuffed animals who sleep with her at night and wind up on the floor by morning. I culled out some things that can be saved but don't really need to be in there. Precious toys, like her Chicago bear, Wisconsin cow and the-dog-on-a-pillow The Boy won for her were placed on shelves. That just left Chicago dog, Aloyisus the teddy bear and the giant frakking Tweety Bird that's the size of a 4 year old (with I loath, btw) for her bed.

Now we were down to the detritus of teenagedom: stray hair clips, lip gloss, CD cases, pens, fan magazines ("Zac and Vanessa - their true love story!"), earrings, nail polish. All these bits have homes and were quickly put away.

As I put away and tucked up, I though about the design scheme we're going to execute this summer. I have told her there'd be one more room makeover, for high school. The plan is dramatic, based on a display we saw at Anthropologie. (They have the coolest art direction department). The walls are going to be painted with black chalkboard paint. We'll put white egg and dart crown molding at the top of the walls and a matching chair rail all around. She wants pink floral bedding. It will look awesome. More to the point, it will look awesome for me, because the second The Child goes off to college, that's becoming my study. Oh. Yes, it is.

But my giddy delight at the prospect is tempered by the knowledge that I'll be a blubbering mess when that day comes.

Hey! There are an awful lot of dishes in here considering she's not supposed to eat in her room....

Almost done. Papers on the desk ( none of them missing assignments) tidied into a folder. iPod stashed in "the garage"...a drawer she keeps just for her small electronics.

Sweep, vacuum, fold down the bedcovers, shove the basket of dirty laundry into the closet...done. I looked around. What a nice room, despite - or maybe because of - the posters of Zac, Corbin and the Jonas Brothers. Yes, this is a cozy room, a room that's transformed from the pink and yellow of toddler years to the purple of grade school time. Now it's destined for a "little black dress and pearls" classicism, which be the background for the highs and lows of high school. And then she'll be all grown up and she'll move out. She'll move out.

I think I can handle her having a messy room for a while longer.

Chaos in My Kitchen

If I held to my motto: "do the dishes first", I would not be blogging today. Or likely tomorrow.

There are a lot of dishes.

Carnevale was grand.

But man, we have a lot of dishes. Not including the 15 small soup bowls I borrowed from The Neighbor. Those are clean now.

There's more to tell, most of which will be done over on the food blog later. But really, I'm distracted by the lack of empty counterspace.

---

The Child and I went to see "Juno" yesterday, at the darling little cinema in our darling little shopping district. Wow. The movie, I mean. Yeah, I should probably work up a proper review.

Later, while The Spouse watched the Superbowl, The Child and I watched the Food Network. And during commercials we talked about "Juno". Because she kept bringing it up. You see, as much as the parent in me would love to latch on to this "teachable" opportunity about the perils of pre-marital sex and unwanted pregnancy and making choices, the used-to-be-a-teenager in me knows that if I initiate that conversation, this time, in response to this film, the conversation will go like this:

Moi: "So, Juno really blah didi blah didi blahdiblah blah. What do you think, Child?"

Child: "Yeah. Can we listen to Radio Disney?"

Understand, I'm not afraid of having this conversation with her. We've been talking about sex, age-appropriately, of course, since she could speak. Because that's how you're supposed to do.

One day, when she was in the second grade her teacher, Sister Barb, pulled me aside to say that the class had been studying life cycles and that day they had talked, in 2nd grade appropriate fashion, about how babies are made.

"We just cover the basics, you know, but every year there is one child who asks the question and this year it was The Child". She said this very brightly, with the sort of look reserved for the parents of child prodigies.

"And the question?" I asked. (I myself, a prodigy not so much).

"Well, I was explaining about sperm and eggs and how they need to get together to make a baby. But I don't go into the details, of course. The Child was the one who asked how the sperm and eggs actually get together".

"Oh!" I exclaimed (proving that I'm not squeamish about sex education). "And how did you respond?" (Because, you know, if this came up later I wanted to be on the same page with teacher).

Sister Barb smiled, beatifically. "I told her it was an excellent question and she should be sure to ask her parents when she got home".

I looked at Sister and said, "$4,800 a year in tuition and I have to answer the question?"

Of course, I was teasing. Sorta. I didn't mind. And I understood the logic...it was a weighty question and not every family was going to be down with their 7 year olds getting the "whole story".

That afternoon I was taking The Child to choir practice, anticipating the question every time she opened her mouth but she just chatted on brightly about this and that. As she got out of the car at church she turned to me and said, ever so casually, "Oh, yeah, and mommy, we were talking about sperm and eggs today and I want to know how they get together".

"Can we talk about this after choir?"

"Sure!" and she ran off. I spent the next two hours thinking of what to say. (Let's face it, this is a classic case of "what do they really want to know and how much information is too much?").

On the way home from choir, she sat in the backseat, chatting again. I waited, not intending to bring up the subject. I wanted to see if she really had a burning interest.

"So, mommy, what's the deal with the sperm and the egg?"

"I'm happy to tell you, but why don't you tell me what you know, first". Not hedging, just wanting to verify her facts and make sure that she's really asking what I think she's asking.

(You know the old joke: "Where did I come from?" Long explanation, blanched face of child...punchline: "Timmy said he came from Chicago..." ba da bump).

She had her facts. Men have sperm. Women have eggs. Sperm has to meet egg to make baby.

"But how does the sperm get to where the eggs are?"

Moment of truth. "When a mommy and daddy love each other very much.....", I began, and then proceeded to give her the most basic of facts.

There was silence from the backseat for a moment.

"Well, that's just gross," she said.

"Yes, it is gross to you now. Because you're 7. When you grow up and graduate from college and travel in Europe for a year and work at a great job for a while and then meet the man you love and marry him, it won't seem gross at all". (Not that I have a vision for her life plan or anything but you do what you can).

"It's still gross".

---

She's taking a mental health day today. I wouldn't mind one, myself. But there's still a ton of good times to clear up. Best get to it.

Loose Ends and Minutiae

1) Remember the story of the "Concierge Who Saved Christmas?" Well, I neglected, in the hubbub of the holidays, to tell you that, even as I was in the midst of writing a huffy letter to the Sorrento, I got a very apologetic email from their Food and Beverage manager. I have no idea how he saw my link but it certainly is an example of the power of the blog, isn't it? Anyhoo, as I said, he was very sincerely sorry for the treatment we had received and hoped we would give them another chance.

(In truth, I doubt we'll go back, or if we do, it certainly won't be at Christmas. This owes to The Spouse holding grudges like a McCoy and Hatfield combined.

This is one aspect of my darling husband's makeup which I find unsavory. There is little moderation in it and one unfortunate experience is enough for him to sever long and abiding ties. I wish he would strive for more tolerance and forgiveness, as he himself is not fully perfected in all things.

Can you tell I was watching "Persuasion" on PBS last night?)

Point is, 'twas very nice of Mr. Food & Beverage to pour oil on troubled waters and I hereby lift the blog ban upon them. Go have a cocktail.

2) It was very fun to have all of you frolicking about my kitchen this weekend but it turns out that the culprit of the spilled coffee was, as Willym suggested, Notme.

No one copped to it, and all with the most sincere of faces. The Child I believe because, hello, she doesn't drink coffee. There would be no reason for her to remove the emergency packet of ground coffee from the freezer and then leave it on the counter, spilled or otherwise.

I am quite sure The Dog had nothing to do with it.

That really only leaves one person but as said person insists he did not, I have no option but to, well, I don't believe him - obviously- but there you go. Nothing to be done about it.

3) I would like to offer the sincerest of snaps to those of you who work full-time and keep your floors swept.

3a) Assuming my workload continues as it has so far this month and that some of the business cards which have gone out begin to bear fruit, as it were, I have decided that, at least for now, Monday and Friday will be treated as my "in the office" days. There are little bits of administrative work that go with running your own business (duh) but also, I really do need to try and get a handle on being an entrepreneur and still having a swept floor.

4) The final dotting of i's and crossing of t's on The Child's applications will be done today and then we sit and wait.

5) We have been on a campaign to reduce The Dog's increasing tubbiness. He is being taken for strenuous walks, having his kibble intake managed and generally being encouraged to be a littler dog. I did not think that this program had yet born much fruit but he just tore through the kitchen and bulleted his way through the cat door to bark at some offensive person. He hasn't been able to squeeze through that in some time.

I do not need to squeeze through the cat door, now or ever, but strenuous walking and management of my kibble intake is obviously an effective strategy toward mitigating tubbiness in general. Isn't that encouraging?

f) Child went with The Boy to a cat show yesterday, prompting her to call and beg that I come down and purchase one of the "very cute and sweet" kitties being offered for sale. I had no intention of paying $100 for a kitty. Now, in truth, this is a good deal as the kitties have been snipped and clipped and inoculated. Doing the same to a free kitty would likely cost as much if not more. But I am not ready for a new kitty. The Spouse confided that he didn't want a new kitty at all. We will get one, I'm sure. In the spring. But it will need to be a farm kitty, like Phoebe was, one born with a talent for mousing.

Which reminds me, that I must order Phoebe's rose.

7) I intended to insert links at all the appropriate places but every time I went to get a new one the old one disappeared. I'm done.

Desperate Measures

The Child's computer has been acting up and it's stressing her out because she needs it for homework. The Spouse hasn't gotten around to looking at it, usually because he's tired when he gets home plus he's busy editing the movie and The Child doesn't usually think to complain about it until a thoroughly inappropriate time; like after she's been sent to bed.

The other night The Spouse decided he'd try and help her out. Only her room was such a sty that he couldn't move things to see what was going on. So he left, telling her that if she cleaned her room he'd fix the computer.

I don't know what it is about kids and squalor but dang it. It truly is heinous. And it's not for want of trying to keep it under control. Stuff gets flung out of her room all the time. Good lord, there's a rummage sale the first weekend of November and she's packed up 4 wine boxes full of stuff to sell. Plus every once in a while I'll go in there and fling garbage and recycling and too- small clothes. But no matter what anyone does, I swear, that crap breeds in the night.

Add to that the fact that The Child never met a flat surface she didn't like. Dirty laundry? That's what the floor is for. It's also a swell place to store CDs, books, magazines, posters and oh, yeah, assignments that should have been turned in. What's more, she hordes sugar products in her room. I know, because I'm always finding stashes of it. I don't even know where she gets this stuff.

Of course, I understand what it is to be overwhelmed. She creates this mess but then when told to clean her room, has no idea where to start. (Hint: pick up all the dirty laundry and you're half way there). And when she's in her room dancing to HSMII or writing acceptance letters to Hogwarts for her friends, she just ignores it: dances on top of it, adds a layer of letters to the madness.

I went in there yesterday and despaired. Then I came up with a Brilliant Idea. I would clear all the junk out into the living room; make a giant pile so that maybe, in the cool green calm of the tidy and dusted living room she'd actually see it. Sure, this plan had the potential to backfire. Maybe, once seen, there'd be a total freak out. But maybe, just maybe....

It was nasty work. 2 pails of garbage. Not to mention the fact that somewhere along the way she managed to spill cocoa on a bunch of stuff. Cocoa stained clothes (including formerly clean laundry that she had dumped out of the basket onto the floor rather than putting away because she apparently needed the basket for a project). Cocoa stained pillows. A CD liner for HMSII that had been welded to the floor by smelly, sticky cocoa. (Hi. I catch her with anything other than water in her room ever again and she moves into the garage). I flung the garbage, removed the candy, threw the cocoa stuff in the laundry and moved everything, including all the dirty laundry, into the living room.



Then The Dog threw up.

I don't think one was related to the other.

FYI: The swatches of Mayfair blue? That would be her school sweater. The one she couldn't find yesterday morning. Actually, there were three of them. Oh, and Buck, can you identify a particular species of stuffed animal in there?

Moving on. I made her bed, cleaned up all the stickiness with yummy smelling cleaning agents (mmmm...cucumber), swept, organized her books and waited to see her reaction.

---

"I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!" she chanted upon returning home.

"And why do you love me, lass"? (She hadn't noticed the living room, just her spotless bedroom).

"Because you cleaned my room! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you!
Thank you!"

"Ah. But I didn't clean your room". This was met with one of those tilted-head-with-a-curious-expression-like-a-puppy things.

"I just moved everything out of your room. You still have to deal with it".

"Oh".

But you know what? She was still happy. And even though I had to take a cattle prod to her to sort the mess, she did it before The Spouse returned home. Plus she laid out her clothes for today.

And the dirty laundry crack I made earlier? Yeah. Easily half of it.

An Update

Project Restoration is moving apace.

I have collected 30 cents in "tips" so far. And 10 pence.

I ascribe to the policy that if I find money on the floor (or buried in the couch or in the laundry, etc) I get to keep it. If I find it in your wallet, well, that's another story.

Filmed Entirely on Location

I keep finding gaffer's tape everywhere!

The recycling bin is nearly full and it was just picked up on Thursday. (Movie crews go through A LOT of bottled water).

I sure hope all the cobwebs in the living room don't show up on film.

Someone left their makeup bag.

I have to find a place to hide the box of Tootsie Pops.

Somewhere between right now and 4:08pm Friday I have to mop.

Oh Where, Oh Where?

My kitchen shears have gone missing. I hate when that happens. I'm pretty sure The Child took them. Somehow it's easier to grab them from the little crock on the counter than to open the drawer that holds the 412 pairs of scissors (including all the ones that make groovy shaped lines).

Since she usually does her art projects in front of the television I figured that they must have fallen under the cushions or something so today I went hunting. I ended up tipping the couch on it's back. I mean, once you start unearthing junk you feel compelled to keep going. The family room needed a good sweep and mop anyway.

Well, I found 2 socks (which didn't match), a compass, 2 dinner forks, a cheese knife and a shoe (mine). I also swept up a pile of detritus. I'm not ashamed to show it to you.

Yeah. 'Bout the only things I didn't locate were the body of Jimmy Hoffa and my kitchen shears. Fine. Since they're clearly not in the couch they must be in The Child's room.

Crap.

Mmmmm...Smells Fresh!

There. The house is tidy enough, except for the Petite Bebe suite, but only because the sheets are in the dryer. I figure, if an adult has to sleep in the ultimate Tiger Beat bedroom, she at least deserves clean sheets.

The Hat will be arriving any moment. I have yet to bake the applesauce cake or make the honey-lavender ice cream but I figure, she can watch. It's not like we're eating dinner now, right? No, there will be much sitting and drinking wine and laughing before dinner.

I used this new all-purpose cleaner stuff, a brand called Method. It smells like cucumber. It's awesome. Also, my floors are no longer sticky.

Homekeeping tip #37: at least once a month invite someone to sleep over. It's a good motivator.

Have a nice weekend.

Could it be a Trend?

Day 2. The Child made her bed again.

There were a few comments yesterday from parents who had the "pick your battles" strategy relative to room cleanliness. And I get that. Which is why we haven't actually had tons of battles about her room. Usually I just keep my mouth shut until it's looking like a hazmet site and then insist that she at least clear a path to the door in case of fire.

But the other side of the equation is, well, two-fold. And since I've been getting math lessons from her I know there are only 2 sides to an equation so suggesting that the other side is two-fold sounds like algebra or maybe even calculus. Which I don't do. Yet. I digress.

Let's start again.

I don't want her to kill herself should she have to negotiate her way out of her room in the dark. That's one.

I don't want mice and other creatures inhabiting her room. That's 2.

I also know that one of these days she's going to go live with other people. I don't want her to be the one whose personal habits are such that the other people are the ones asking, "Were you raised in a barn?" Because she wasn't, dammit.

But the other thing that I think is really important, though far less tangible, is the sense of peace you have in a room that isn't cluttered. A bedroom, especially, should be a respite, a place to get away from what's crazy and just be. A place to dream and create and play. The Child never wanted to clean her room, but she also didn't want to be in it. Or couldn't.

A few weeks ago I suggested that part of her afternoon routine be 15 minutes of "housekeeping" in her room, just picking up a few things, clearing one area, no big deal. And I suggested that if she managed to do it every day, she probably wouldn't have to do any cleaning come the weekend. She thought that would be groovy so she tried it. And it worked. Then she realized that if your bed is made, even if there is some stuff on the floor, your room still looks more clean than not. Plus it's yummier to get into at night. Add to that the fact that she's now doing her own laundry and necessarily can't have half her wardrobe moldering on the floor and it amounts to a pretty, calm, restful little spot. Which she is starting to use and enjoy in a way she hasn't since she was 3 and we first moved in.

And I think that is superfantastic.

I've been quite a productive little peanut today and I'm going to continue in that vain. Appropos of nothing, I'm going to leave you with this little tune which I just discovered last weekend while vjing at Here's the 80s. It's now my favorite Bangles song ever. Plus, both JP and I find this video to be brilliantly hilarious, for a couple of reasons. And since not all of you come to the club (as we like to calal it) on the weekends, thought you might enjoy a little musical interlude. (And yes, Rosie; I know you can't play videos on your archaic computer that is powered by gerbils. And all I can say is, hello darling? it's called the 21st century. Maybe you can watch it at Gina's).



"Going Down to Liverpool"

Who's Child Is This?

So I asked The Child about the cooler full of provisions.

"Oh. That."

When she came home sick on Monday I had just stripped her bed prepatory to a good laundering. So she was insconced in our room with television and chicken noodle soup. Once I got her bed back together she was going to decamp to her own space and do homework. (Oh, and the "illness" was just a touch of the over-doing it with junky food during all her weekend festivities - The Boy's birthday party and then a movie date/Johnny Rockets fandango with The Spouse and The Boy).

So her story, and she's sticking to it, is that she prepared this little feast so that she could eat if she was hungry without bothering me.

"That's very considerate," said I. "But it's my job to bring you food when you're sick in bed. Don't worry about it. Plus, mommy doesn't want ants and things in your room. That's why I only want you eating in there if you are in fact sick in bed".

"Oh. Ok".

So there you go. Nothing nefarious or even mildly creative. Nothing like the time when Dame Judi was cleaning out my brother's room and found a drawer full of garden dirt.

"Why do you have a drawer full of dirt?" she asked, as would anyone.

"Well, sometimes I like to make projects and I don't always want to go all the way out to the garden".

Kids.

Meanwhile, The Child has been on some sort of mission. She brought up her science and religion grades, which was superfantastic. But she got an F in math. Yes. An F. No drama club for her this spring. But the cool thing was that for the first time ever, she really cared.

"You know, mom, I've realized that I really have to knuckle down. I mean, this is serious. I'm in middle school and high school is coming up. I have to do better. I even asked Mr. D to move me to a new desk because P is always turning to me and saying things like, 'What's the square root of a picon?' and I don't even know what that is and I tell him, 'Hey, P, I'm trying to work here'".

So she has this whole plan, which she is fully implementing, to get as much of her work done at school as possible and to spend more time at home reviewing and studying. To that end, she has also decided that for 15 minutes every day she's going to teach me the math she's working on. Which is a good strategy because teaching someone else is a very good way to learn yourself.

Yesterday she came home with an entire worksheet that she'd created, something with tables and logic questions that, frankly, kicked my butt. I'm happy to say that with her instruction I was able to score 24 out of 26 on my "pop quiz". Math and I haven't been on a first name basis since 4th grade but if it helps her feel more confident about what she's learning then I'm all for it.

But that's not all. This morning she got up and dressed in record time. I called her for breakfast and she was a little late to the table. "I'll be right there, I just have to make my bed". Cool. She comes out and eats and then, without being told, picks up her dishes and...wait for it....loads them into the dishwasher. Then she wiped the counter.

"Uh, I'm sorry, what did you do with my kid?" I demanded. She grinned. Then she asked if I'd like a tour of her room. (Been there, bought the snow globe, but sure). She takes me in to reveal that she had not only made her bed, arranging the pillows and stuffed creatures as if for a photo shoot, but had also picked up her floor, tidied her desk and straightened her shelves.

Times like this you can't help but think, "Hey, maybe we've got a potentially productive member of society on our hands after all".

Grrl Power

One of the fun things about bailing out the scary contents of The Child's room is being able to play her CDs while I work. I love this song.

I also know what happened to all the little individual packets of Goldfish® that I bought on Friday. Just saying.



Avril Lavigne "Complicated"

Monday Meh

I got nothing, people.

Well, that's not strictly true. It's more like I've got so much that I don't know where to start. So instead of trying, I'm going to clean my kitchen counters, throw a bunch of crap out of The Child's room and work on my book.

It's a beautiful almost-spring day and that makes me happy.

So did this, which came from Cardinal Sin.

On the 9th Day of Christmas I'm Still Wishing for a Dumpster

Gina suggested that I need an "easy" button. What I need is a dumpster. Also, I need the other people in this house to frakkin' deal with their garbage when they generate it. You know, like recycle newspapers and empty envelopes. And hello? There's a garbage can under the kitchen sink. The counter is actually not the place for our detritus, people.

"Ooh," you say. "You're so gonna get it...The Spouse reads your blog".

Yeah, well, he's not the only one generating messes. I'm just saying. It's a little house. It doesn't take much to send things swirling into madness. ("Our house, in the middle of the street". JP played that yesterday on "Here's the 80s". Have we promoted our new blog enough yet? No? 'K. We'll keep reminding you).
But everything is going to be ok. Really. I actually got quite a lot accomplished yesterday, which includes dealing with our family room, which had become pretty much just a junk room. It is just neat as a pin now. And if it was a woman it would also weigh about 20 pounds less than she did yesterday.

Here's something completely random that I figured out. Most of you people are reading this blog while you're at work. Aren't you? I knew it. The ol' site meter showed at least a fifth of my audience disappeared during the holidays but it's steadily picking up again. Just thought I'd mention that. It's a little odd to me, only because I'm totally addicted to the internets and no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I have to find a wireless connection and check my email, that sort of thing. Yes, it's a sickness. We've already discussed this.

Speaking of sickness, I woke up this morning with a hangover. A blogging hangover. Specifically, a video blogging hangover. JP and I put up a lot of videos yesterday. We were driven by some sort of need to lay a foundation before we started doing the whole "weekend video extravaganza" thing. Why? Don't know. But we ended up posting something like 50 videos yesterday. And had 2 production meetings. Yet I still cleaned 3 rooms, did laundry, cooked dinner and all that other stuff. Amazing. How do I do it? And without a dumpster no less.

Holy Cow

I am starting to lose it. There is such a vast quantity of crap in my house that I don't know what to. I just spent 15 minutes shoveling out The Child's room (which was actually in pretty good shape...I was just trying to reduce the clutter while she wasn't looking). This resulted in one grocery bag of recycling and a load of laundry. Which I can't do because I just realized that the reason the load I've been trying to dry all morning has been sitting on the "air fluff" cycle because the previous load was sweaters. Which was days ago, which is why I forgot the setting was changed.

Plus there's no place to put the recycling because the bin is already overflowing. It just seems that everywhere I turn there is something that needs to be tossed or moved to another room or recycled or wiped off. Holy moly, the crap just seems to be oozing from the pores of my house.keeps coming. That's not a pretty image. I don't care. Yikes.

Do you know what I wish I had right now? A big dumpster in front of the house, like when we were remodeling. That would make me so happy.

I'm going to start on the master bedroom next, which actually isn't that bad except for the dust creatures the size of neutria and the fact that stripping the bed will create yet another load of laundry.

And I'm pretty damn sure that the Christmas tree is coming down sooner rather than later and I dare anyone to stop me.