Dear Diary ( *wink *wink)

Dear Diary,

I am unhappy with myself. Not in a 13 year old girl's "I have zits and no boobs and a big butt sort of way." More in a 33 year old's "I have zits and no boobs and a big butt sort of way." Kidding. I do have those things, but it isn't why I am self-disgruntled. Diary, I am totally unhappy with the way I do my job. Maybe the gray days are getting to me. Maybe the fact that I seem to be surrounded in gray and brown and blue even when the sun is shining is getting to me. Maybe I am feeling a bit of cabin fever, but the fact of the matter is that I am disorganized, undisciplined, and way more of a dreamer than a doer. I'd like to say that what I lack in orderliness, I make up for in spunk and determination and creativity. It just isn't true. I flounder through my days, some better than others, and at the end feel tired and dissatisfied. I am not a bad mother or a bad person, I am just a terrible homemaker.

I think I am back in 3rd grade. All the girls have formed a "we're on the ball" club, but I am not invited to join. There is a secret to getting in the club, but I don't know it and no matter how many passwords or handshakes I try, or no matter how many entrance essays I pen, something isn't quite right.

Or maybe I am a juggler. I think every mother is, so that makes sense. Only I can't keep my balls in the air. I think I spend all my time chasing the ones I've dropped, only to find the couple I thought I managed to keep going gone as well. Oh drat, I was SURE I could keep laundry and the kitchen spinning just fine in my left hand while I crawled about on the floor desperately trying to figure out where the "Kids Listening" ball went and how to pull the "Library Due Date" ball out from under the dirty fridge.

Perhaps I am a Postman. No, I think I am a

Tram.

I'm feeling rather funny and I don't know what I

am-*

(Oh, sorry. I get distracted. Odd how a person like me could feel topsy-turvy....)

The worst of it all, Diary, is that I am fully aware that very few people have this stuff together. I get that, but I STILL delude myself into thinking I am going to figure out how to be one of those people. Oh? What's that Diary? People who fall into this category tend not to have three strong willed, small children? They don't waste their time on the computer? They don't decide to start babysitting another child to make a few bucks?

HUMPH.

Where did I drop that "Happy Medium" ball?

SIGH.

Maybe I should look for the "Chill Out" ball instead.

*randomly quoting A.A.Milne's "Busy"

Good Read

I have fallen in love with this book, recently taken, I mean BORROWED, from the local library.

My boys and I were captivated by the gorgeous illustrations,

the great insight into an historical undertaking,

and lots of facts and statistics for little engineers (and their mama) to marvel over.

And, other than the fact that I am now itching to go to NYC....

a good read, indeed.

Wordless Wednesday- Catnap

A Little Love

We don't go nuts at Valentine's Day around here. There aren't scads of balloons and flowers. Or huge boxes of chocolates and perfume. (Although this year, there did seem to be scads of bacon. If you're a fan try these pancakes and these cookies FOR SURE. If you're not, let's just pretend I never mentioned it.) We do like to do a little something for the kids though.

This year, in addition to some new crayons to replace all the ones they baked, I made a trio of Purl Bee frogs.

These frogs are SO easy to make and are a big hit. My kids have not put them down now for two days. Cal (at almost 7 years old) practically had a panic attack when we couldn't find his last night. Super fun and easy if you need a reason to spread a little handmade love......Valentine's Day or not.

Sunshine Supermen

Boy, if I am ever having a gray day, let me be reminded of this. Made for me on Friday by both of my boys, but led entirely by my creative, headstrong Pipapotomus.

This is what these boys wake up in the morning wanting to do (when they're not begging me for Super Mario Brothers). And if a 5 year old's paper sun to brighten the day and a report card note from a 1st grader's art teacher calling him a "gifted art student" doesn't make a mama's heart swell with pride, well I don't know what does. (Almost makes up for said 1st grader's same reports of goof off behaviors and lack of listening skills. AHEM. )

So, little men, keep creating. Something. Every day. And thanks for the sunshine.

Be Mine

Remembering my sister telling me of this project a couple years ago and being newly reminded by Nicola, I decided get my Valentine crafty groove on and use up some old, unhappy crayons in the process. It's easy -peasy.

Break and de-paper crayons. Oh, your kids have already done that to all their crayons? Even better.

Fill (not all the way) mini-muffin pan (hearts not required, but very cute) with broken pieces any old way you like.

Melt at 275 for 8-10 minutes. Remove and cool to room temperature. Place pan in freezer for 2 to 3 minutes then pop out to cool completely.

Beautiful.

And a lovely reminder of what a little time and love can do for some broken discarded bits.

Be mine.

Why Do You Ask?

I don't want a sweatshirt. I'm not cold.

Survey Says

Not that I'm going to listen. I almost always just do what I want without worry about what anybody else is going to think. But just in case I decide to go into an indecisive funk.....

Whatcha think?

Two all mixed up?

Or two color groups?

I'm leaning toward the first. 'Cuz this later one feels a little too matchy-matchy for me. I know Mom, I know.

Anyone with any experience in this matter (ahem, Dana?), or without experience for that matter, please feel free to chime in any other ideas too.

As long as it's understood that I just might ignore them. ;-)

Time for a Game

Thanks for the love yesterday, ladies. Really. And I hope you all do know how comical I actually find my own chaos. I will probably not have to resort to stiff drinks or actual therapy. Just wretching up a bit of "word vomit" (I said it, Heather!), seems to have done the trick. The half of the ridiculousness that is not caused by my children's antics is caused almost entirely by my own. And sometimes I do get a little mucked up in the cruddy bits, but mostly I just roll with it.

Oh, and speaking of children's antics. Anybody know what this is?

Yup. "M is for Marshmallow."

And for "MOSTLY, I don't think she ate any glue."

Ramble On Therapy

Oh, hello there. I haven't been meaning to not be here. I've composed several posts in my head. And wrote one (horridly self pitying and depressing) in a notebook. I'd like to "do it all" (whatever that means); I'm just going insane.

Last week developed into a couple grumpy days and some grumpyish/sickish sorts of children. And then I took Tate to school leaving the breezeway door wide open. I did lock the door to the house at least, but I just drove away and never even noticed. I "wasted time" at Salvation Army while Tate was at school, purchasing a darling vintage book that later turned out to have a page missing. I know I can't expect much for 69 cents, but it made me crabby. I left school twice and had to turn around and go back. The first time for boots and the second for Tate's papers. When I tried to start a project at home I ::ahem:: inadvertently referred to a "clamp" as a "vice grip" when asking my husband where to find such an item. He couldn't understand why it wasn't in the bucket. I couldn't understand why it WOULD be in the bucket and didn't get anywhere with the project other than carrying my piano bench downstairs. We had an "incident" at school with Calvin. Everything is fine and I guess he didn't really even get in trouble. From what I can understand, it was a bit of play fighting that got a little out of hand. Really, I was very proud of Cal. He came to me even before the teacher did and told me what happened and apologized. But still, it happened and somebody else's mother seems to be very upset about it and, as much as I know Cal wasn't in the wrong any more than the other boy, I don't like thinking there is a mom out there that sees my boy as a deviant. Then on Friday, Ellerie decided to flood the upstairs bathroom by overflowing the sink. I was on the phone and loading the dishwasher when suddenly water started pouring out my kitchen light fixture! ACK! And, for some reason, I've decided to up the ante on potty training Elle because I am SO RIDICULOUSLY SICK OF HER UNCOOPERATIVENESS IN THIS DEPARTMENT. Oh, right. That was the reason. So much for girls being easier to train that boys. And so much for cloth diapers encouraging them to use the potty sooner. My kids could make bunk of just about any rule of thumb you throw at them.

My house is a wreck. There's a hole in my kitchen ceiling. I am not allowed to have a rational conversation with my husband in order to make decisions about anything as long as the kids are awake. I'm behind on the laundry, AGAIN. I was 20 minutes late to preschool, AGAIN. Tate dumped a half a bottle of juice on the kitchen floor today. Let's just say things are a bit dicey around here. Call it winter blues or cabin fever or a family of monkeys, it's all the same to me. But that neck warmer up there? That one's for me.