course correction.

i don’t set resolutions based on new year’s. i feel like i’m a person in a constant state of flux—the best time to begin something new or make a change is immediately after thinking it over and making the decision in your head. DO IT. right now.
i guess on it’s face that can translate out as slightly ADD tendencies: i think of something, i mull it over, i start. sometimes that process takes minutes, sometimes days.
but i’m easily bored and—these days—extremely forgetful, so if i don’t get going immediately chances are it won’t happen.

what was i talking about?

oh. so i had a big thought, and i’m acting on it. thing is, i haven’t been feeling like the greatest momma lately. life, tired, stressed, sicknesses, sewing, cooking, cleaning, blogging, working…blah blah blah. bottom line it: too much, and my babies were getting the short end of the stick.

they were getting meals, and baths, and clean laundry. they weren’t getting tickles, and songs, and silly faces. they didn’t have mommy just sitting on the couch sans phone/project taking up the place in my lap where they should be. there was a lack of tower building, game playing, picture drawing. too much time in front of the tv. too much.

every evening i crawled into my bed—i need “me” time, even if that trite phrase isn’t how i put it in my head. i didn’t want to be mommy anymore—no more questions, no more Solomon like decision making, no more barking out orders. my kids were left to their own devices so i could clear my head with some crocheting and telephonernetting.

there’s nothing wrong with that—every mommy needs her time and space. it makes for a better mommy. but i was becoming a selfish mommy. i did the things i HAD to do. the things that keep our family alive and relatively functional, meanwhile retreating further and further away from being a Momma who’s there and present and engaged. i realized i was not even LOOKING at my children. conversations were happening while my eyes and 50% of my attention was focused elsewhere. that is huge, because looking someone in the eye is a mark of respect as far as i’m concerned. and as much as they need to respect me as a parent, i need to respect them as people. i was failing miserably.

i was mothering just enough to begin to hate mothering. i’m doing all the grunt work, without taking the time to enjoy all the rewarding stuff. it was twisted up in my brain—do the hard stuff and my reward was alone time, instead of my reward being pleasant times with my children.

and it shows in them, too. picking at each other, fighting…a general feeling of annoyance in our home. it was me thinking about all that—how we got to this place where there was shouting and fighting so much when they used to get along and cooperate so well—that brought me to my senses. the fact is they’re confused. with so much time spent parenting themselves and each other the lines between sibling relationships were become blurred and lost. everyone has their place in the home, and i was neglecting mine, leaving a large hole that my children kept tripping in.

i’m not perfect. obviously. but i’ve been thinking—hard—about what is happening in my life and my home and my family right now. i feel like there is a giant clock ticking over my shoulder. i suppose it’s along the lines of a woman’s biological clock—once the children have come it starts counting down the hours and days you have to perfect this parenting gig.

tick tick tick you have a 13 year old daughter. have you taught her the important things about womanhood that she needs to know? are you giving her  a good self-image? is she learning the life skills she’ll need to thrive? does she have a relationship with her father that’s strong enough to keep her from seeking out the creepy boys and men that prey on girls with daddy issues?

tick tock tick tock you have an 11 year old son. have you built up your relationship with him to a good enough place that you’re ready to face the coming trials of tween/teen-agehood? is he learning the skills and lessons to become a good man, husband, father someday? is he learning from you the right way to treat women, to eat dinner (not like a cow), to hold the door open for people?

tick tick tick you have a 9 year old daughter. she is the middle child and feels her divided place strongly. sometimes she’s grouped with the older siblings, sometimes with the younger. she needs more attention, more understanding, more patience. are you doing that? or are you pushing her away because she’s clingy and you’re crushing candy? how much will you regret that decision when she’s 15 and doesn’t want to talk to you anymore?

tick tock tick tock you have a five year old daughter. she’s spunky and friendly and if there’s anyone who will run off with a stranger to help them find their puppy it’s HER. have you taught her enough? she’s going to kindergarten in 8 months and wants to learn so badly. you promised to do “home preschool” with her and the supplies have sat unused for months. why?

tick tick tick you have a 2 year old daughter. this morning you sang twinkle twinkle with her in bed and couldn’t remember the last time you did that. or read a book together. she sang her ABC’s to you and you knew you weren’t the one responsible for teaching her that. she’s asking where “ava-mommy” is. did you color together today?

my clock is ticking—loudly and harshly. fortunately it’s also an alarm clock. i’ve pushed snooze one too many times and it’s time for me to wake up. i get one shot at this parenting thing, and i’m not going to do it perfectly, but i can certainly do better than i am now.

so i’ve been absent from here. no blogging, no blog reading, no less hours spent wasted on googling such vital things as “subway tile with gray grout images”. i’ve put down my phone and done less instagraming, less texting, less stupid stupid game playing. i’m trying to find a new balance—one that let’s me do the grunt work, enjoy the rewarding children time, and still have the husband and wife time and the just shannon time. dude. that’s not an easy task.

so please excuse the dust while my life is under renovation.

more words i don’t know how to say.

well. it’s been quite a couple of weeks. it’s been quiet here on the blog, and for good reason. i talked about the stomach bug that went through—3 of the 5 succumbed in the end. that was tag-teamed with the googiedaddy coming down with a massive flu and possible infection on top of it. dude, he was so sick. dude, i just said dude.

it was not a pleasant week. i lost track of how many times i changed sheets, how many loads of laundry i did, how many cups of tea and ginger ale i poured.

and then you think I AM SO OVER THIS and your dad texts you and says mom is really sick not sure if should go to hospital. so i drove over to find my poor momma curled in a ball on the bathroom floor with waves of pain. dad and i got her in bed, and after conferencing for a few minutes decided it was off to the hospital.

eventually i instagrammed a pic of my #DAREcember challenge from the room we were in…when we thought it was just a nasty stomach bug and she’d be home after some fluids. HA.

that was last sunday, she just got out of the hospital yesterday. it wasn’t a nasty stomach bug. actually they’re not really definitive on what it was, all the tests came back negative and ruled out e-coli and other bacterial nasties. but she was—and is—really sick.

so then you’re basically like I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE AND SO HELP ME I WILL CRY IF YOU LOOK AT ME CROSS-EYED. you know, your basic threat level orange or whatever.
and you know, in the best foreshadowing fashion, that this is where it really gets fun.

wednesday morning i jumped into the shower and called for gigi to come in with me. she’d been congested and i wanted her to try and clear out in a steamy shower. as soon as she took off her clothes and jumped in with me i noticed three dark bruises—two on her arms, one on her right hipbone.

here’s the thing: i can’t tell you why i knew they weren’t right. i have five children. i’ve probably seen 6.4 billion bruises in my mothering career so far. these were…off. they weren’t very large, but they were dark purple and in very odd places.

she doesn’t attend preschool and is rarely not with me, but i still looked in her eyes and asked if anyone hit her. she said no.

so we got out of the shower and i lotioned her up, taking that time to give her a good lookover. i noticed that she had little red dots on her neck, as if she had scratched it and broken tiny blood vessels. she also had a severely chapped lip—her bottom lip looked like she had chewed the snot out of it and was scabby and bloody. she had woken up with that a few days prior.

fortunately i have that honorary doctorate from google, which comes in super handy at times like this. i was simultaneously googling “dark bruises + chapped lips” while texting jeremy “please tell me i’m crazy right now, mmkay?”
he’s a good guy, so he complied.
”you’re crazy, calm down, she’s fine. she’s klutzy.”
but he wasn’t quite fast enough because i’d already found my answer: ITP. Immune or Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpura.
winner winner chicken dinner.

ITP is basically your immune system going haywire. it begins attacking your platelets—the cells in your blood that are “sticky”—the ones responsible for clotting. when your immune system attacks your platelets they die off faster than new ones can be made in your bone marrow and your numbers plummet. normal platelet count is 150,000-350,000.
symptoms: bruises, bleeding of the mucosal membranes (i.e. lips), petechiae (the little red dots all over her skin).

it was too close. the symptoms fit too well. i was most definitely edging toward threat level red.

jeremy texted me back. i read about that thing. i think you should call the doctor.
so i did.
we were there by 11:40. the PA we saw (who i will never, ever see again) initially downplayed.
well kids get bruises.
eyeroll from me. okay thanks i guess i’m an idiot. listen to me: these are different.
then i showed her the neck dots. that got a response.
we headed off for bloodwork—which means wrapping my legs and arms around my baby while she screams and begs for this NOT to happen. ever done it? it’s not pleasant.

you know that feeling when you just KNOW? every fiber of your being just knows? i spent thursday alternately eating all my fingernails off and trying not to cry or puke and calling the doctor’s office to pressure them a little more. they finally called back at 11:30.
everything came back normal. RBC, WBC, all perfectly normal. oh—but her platelets clumped so we didn’t get a count on them. so we’ll put in an order for more labs.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? the one number we needed was the one number we didn’t have. and now i have to go through the holding my baby down process again.

by thursday night she had a lot more bruises.

friday morning. i said to jeremy “do you think they check all the labs that come in and see if anything is really bad and they call them right away?”
our phone rang at 8:50.

gigi’s platelet levels were 23,000.

the PA was completely nonchalant about it. i’m going to have you make an appointment with a hematologist for followup.

i was like uhhh…wait. what? because i don’t know about you but i’ve googled this and i’m thinking 23,000 is a little more serious than “call a hemotologist for an appointment”. so she said if i wanted she could call too.
then i punched her in the neck.
okay no i didn’t but i said thanks but no thanks i’ll make my own phone calls.

we called a few different resources and hospitals. the PA called back.
uhhh…i spoke with the hematology department at CHOP and they’re working on an appointment for gisele but if they can’t get you in today you’ll probably have to take her to the ER.

NO KIDDING.

we packed for an overnight stay. we dressed. we were waiting for a last call back from a hospital in NJ. a nurse from the ped’s office called again: umm, **** (the PA) heard back from CHOP and they said you need to take Gisele to the ER right now. are you going?

saying that i was angry is a little bit of an understatement.

we got in the car and drove to the ER. we’re fortunate to be a 1/2 hour drive from some of the best hospitals in the U.S., but that doesn’t help at all when you’re taking one of your babies there.

gigi was cool with the hospital idea. we told her that her blood was sick, and she needed to go to the big hospital so they could help her. yes, she’s going to have to have more bloodwork. we explained an IV as best we could. she was less cool with that.

and from that point it basically went as expected: our nurse was awesome. like really, really awesome. she placed an IV, then took more blood for labs. we waited.
her platelets were up to 43,000.
the hematologist came down and talked with us. at that point it was basically confirmed for us: gisele has ITP.
her platelets had gone up and that was a good sign, but it didn’t change things too much. her risk of bleeding remained basically the same. what’s the treatment? well there’s a few different things they can try. but the bottom line is her body has to do this on it’s own. the treatments are just temporary stopgap measures, and with a level of 43,000 we can wait and watch and see if her body can figure it out on it’s own. there are children walking around with much lower numbers.
meanwhile: no wrestling, no jumping off things. if she bangs her head, immediately back to the ER. if she has a nosebleed or bleeding from anywhere that’s excessive or we can’t control after 1/2 hr, back to the ER. car accident or any major trauma, back to the ER.

ITP in children has a very good chance of spontaneous remission—it will go away and that’s it. it can take up to 9 months, it can happen in a couple of weeks. there is a chance it could become chronic. but we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. 

gigi goes in monday morning to the hematology clinic. she’ll have bloodwork again to check her levels. driving 95 with her…ugh. i asked jeremy if it was insane to make her wear a helmet in the car? honestly, it’s not—the hematologist offered to send us home with one if it made us more comfortable.

so this is our new normal. i’m going to be 34 this month, and i didn’t really have any grey hairs. but everyone knows—these little rugrats will give ‘em to ya. a 5 year old with a platelet count of 43,000 who is trying to ride her new scooter through the house? i could feel them sprouting in my head.

in truth though, this, right now—knowing what we’re dealing with--is 1000x better than the not knowing of wednesday and thursday. it’s another thing to roll in to our life and keep on going.

as soon as we can remember how to say it.

the red hair is from my mom, the metabolism is from my dad. thanks, genetics.

when ava was a month old i took her in to our doctor for a checkup. since i was there and he was our family doctor (albeit a new one, having just bought the practice from our old doctor), i told him i was fairly certain i had a breast infection.
he asked how i knew. i was used to my midwives—they trust me, they know me. i say i have mastitis, they say we’ll call in your prescription.
so i told him—fever, flu-like symptoms, oh and this hot red spot on my right breast right here. cue nonchalant unveiling of boobage.

took him a little by surprise.

i got my script right quick.

i’m telling you this story to explain how i feel about doctors: they’re doctors. i don’t get worked up over exposing various body parts to them. that’s their job. you want to judge my body? i don’t seriously think you are, but whatever. professional courtesy demands you keep a straight face when i’m sitting on your paper covered table. pap smears, routine exams—par for the course. i’m no exhibitionist, but the fact is to keep yourself healthy is going to require the harsh florescent lighting of an office exam room shining on parts of you that you may normally keep wrapped up.

and generally-- i’m okay with that.

2 weeks ago i had an appointment with an endocrinologist. it was the first time i’d seen one, and i was nervously optomistic that maybe this would help provide answers to the weird things my body has been doing for the last two years.

he was a nice guy—we joked, he was compassionate. he assured me that he would do what he could to get me feeling better. he took my blood pressure, checked various body parts…

 and then. then there was this awkward thing. he asked me to stand up—he needed to check my stomach briefly. i didn’t fully understand, i thought he wanted to feel my stomach. turns out he wanted to see my stomach.

i was wearing a maxi dress.

it turned into this unbelievably uncomfortable moment of him starting to lift my skirt because i was just standing there waiting, then me thinking he wanted to feel my stomach hand-to-skin, so me lifting it a bit higher so he could reach under, then him lifting it even higher because i still wasn’t getting that he needed to actually see my stomach.

let me be clear: i don’t blame the doctor, i’m not angry at him. and he definitely seemed embarrassed. it was just a comical set of events that went wrong.

but.

i was humiliated.

i don’t say that lightly. i could feel my face burning as i sat back down, and i avoided his eyes for the next few questions. because for all my big talk about not caring about doctors seeing my body—i completely and totally hate the way my stomach looks.

::record scratch:: wait, what? am i allowed to say that? listen—i’ve heard the speeches, read the blog posts, looked at the websites. i’ve called my stretch marks my “tiger stripes”, my badges of motherhood. the saggy skin i try to—if not love—at least embrace as remnants of bringing my five beautiful children into the world. and my husband loves me the way i am—never once has he made me feel anything less than completely beautiful by both his words and actions.

but it doesn’t work. the sagging skin and stretch marks, the fat i can’t seem to shake from the last two pregnancies—i hate it. hate. it. it flies in the face of all the self affirmations we see and read. the praise princess kate got for “embracing” her post-pregnancy body was huge news. and to a certain extent it’s true—a woman less than 48 hours post-partum should never have to justify what her body looks like.

but what about when you’re like…24 months post partum? do the same rules apply?

i understand it all: my stomach was stretched almost to bursting and then deflated five separate times. and i thank my body for the ability to do that. my self image isn’t so poor that i look at tabloid pictures in supermarket checkout lines of stars flaunting flat bellies and 6 pack abs 15 minutes after giving birth and think “whaaaaa why don’t i look like that???” i know it’s totally unrealistic—and frankly, ridiculous--not at all what my goal would ever be. and the truth is i need to lose weight—both for health reasons and self-image reasons. i have been battling that for years now, and i firmly believe the difficulty i’m having with weight loss is connected to whatever else is going on with my body.

unfortunately in the cold light of day, or the harsh light of a fitting room…all that doesn’t really help.

but.

there are bigger forces at play here: i am a mother of four daughters.

deep breath.

teaching them to be good, kind, industrious, thrifty, creative, giving, spiritual, intelligent women..some days i just don’t feel equivalent to the task. some days it’s just overwhelming and i think there’s no way i can do all i need to do. my girls range from 13 to 2. we have pimples to potty training, algebra to animal sounds, braces to blocks.

my brain sometimes doesn’t have the power it needs to make the mental leaps from one to the other every few minutes—or seconds. so as parents we sometimes have to pick and choose—the hills on which we plant our flags and refuse to move. i’ll stick to this principle or by god i’ll die trying.

so it goes for me and body image: model what you want your daughters to see. be the woman you want them to become. and i’m not claiming i do it all right: i know i’ve complained about my body in their hearing. i know i’ve used less than flattering terms to describe other people. but i am harshly conscious of never using the term “diet” in front of them. i tell them i’m going to the gym. i’m exercising because it’s important for health. i stress good eating—eat your veggies and fruits, stop eating when you’re full, you don’t have to clear your plate but you do have to taste everything once. i tell them they’re beautiful people, inside and out. but i never tell them they’re chubby (okay, except for elliot. she’s my chunky monkey. but i don’t think it really counts when they’re babies)

they seem to have all been awarded their father’s metabolism thus far, which i hope works to their favor. i hope that i can instill in them an appreciation for their wonderful god-given bodies that helps them never fall victim to the self-loathing, the eating disorders, even the lingering dissatisfaction.

they’re smart though, you know? it can’t be “do as i say, not as i do” because they’ll see through that in a hot second. so the appreciation for your body? the viewing it with love instead of hatred? has to start here. with me. with us.

and as a general rule we women tend to focus so much on our flaws that we can’t see the breath-taking beauty of the forest for the focusing on one little scarred tree. we miss the beauty we’re exuding—each and every one of us—to complain about our thick ankles or our flabby flying squirrel arms or yes, our flabby stretched out bellies. my stomach is only one part of me—literally, and figuratively. it doesn’t define me, and i’m sure it’s not the first thing people see when they look at me.

and yes—we can focus on our good sense of humor, or our generosity, or our talent for cooking or sewing. but we—as a sex—need to step back and look at ourselves in the mirror. and then instead of seeing all the flaws, see the beauty—the gorgeous deep brown eyes, the pouty lips that make your man melt, the graceful hands or whoa hey now legs. because we ALL have it. we just don’t want to or can’t see it.

so here goes. i’ll start, as long as you promise to join in. i don’t care if you leave your name or a pseudonym or just go totally anonymous.  but tell me: WHAT IS GORGEOUS ON YOU?

me? yeah, i’ve got killer red hair. i have really pretty shaped fingernails. and, let’s face it: some nice legs.

no qualifications, no “i’ve-been-tolds” or “my husband says”. this is what i know.

your turn.

gains, losses, introspection, and changes

so, um, hi.

apparently i was on a little bloggy break.

i’ve found that if there’s one constant amongst many/most/maybe all bloggers: lots of new content=deficiencies elsewhere in life, quiet blog=life getting in order.

i can’t be expected to blog and do dishes. puh.
i’ve been sewing. i’ve been crocheting. i’ve been cleaning and cooking and boo-boo kissing and book reading and exercising and Weight Watching.

okay so it’s basically those last two that pushed me over the edge. there’s a definite Outer Limit to just how much my brain can reasonably organize and coordinate at one time. and in order for me to focus on actually, actively losing weight and getting healthy something else gets shoved aside.

the high blood pressure that’s shadowed me since five was born was one thing. i didn’t have to blame myself--that wasn’t “my” fault. that was from the pregnancy. but then routine blood work showed i was also sporting a cholesterol level of 230-something…well. can’t blame that on the baby.

it was time to buck up. time to face the facts. baby got {too much} back.

so first i joined weight watchers online. why does it bother me to say this? i’ve spent some time psychoanalyzing myself. i’ve decided it’s not me. despite the jennifer hudsons and the jessica simpsons…WW has a definite “old people’s diet” vibe they can’t seem to shake. which they’re obviously trying to.
but the fact is it’s a good diet. i can eat with the family, i can have things i want and not feel deprived.

so i’m happy to announce that, with WW’s help, i’ve lost elliot, finally.

and by that i obviously mean the last lingering five pounds from growing her in ma belleh. gigi has proven to be more challenging. two pounds disappeared, only to return and bring a third last week. boo. it fits though. gigi is a stubborn little stinker. makes sense the weight from carrying her would be, too.

then i made major change number 2: i joined planet fitness. hard to beat $10/month gym fees. (although i sprang for the $20/month to get my five minutes in the massage chair after every workout. totally. worth. it.)

i’m really, really enjoying it. gasp! i KNOW, right? i’m pushing myself—cardio and weights and 30 minute circuits and ellipticals—and i’m starting to see the results. within 2 weeks of starting my new routines i almost passed out while stretching. HOW EXCITING! no really. because i came home and my blood pressure was 109/54. and after a few days of that i called my doctor and said NO MORE BP MEDS, please??!?! yup, it was that fast.

the way i see it—$10/month for BP meds or $10/month for the gym.

plus, the fact that their logo looks so much like the hitchhiker’s logo is a point in their favor…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

come on now. what’s not to like about that?
judgement free zone meets don’t panic. just what i need.

i have two more months before my cholesterol gets checked again. if i’ve lowered it i’m golden. i will have avoided adding a second medication to my daily roster. i shouldn’t need one of those huge am/pm pill organizers at 33.

this will become routine. it already sort of is. and then i can turn my attention back to posting witty accounts of my adventures in sewing. or whatever it is i do here.

oh look, another gif.

are you annoyed by these yet?
yes i admit i may be a little obsessed. but they're cool. and fun to make.

and when i realized i had this series of photos from field day in may...well--come on. they're just perfect, right?

that's miss ava in the center, playing with the GIANT PARACHUTE, which i'm sure we can all agree was The Best Thing Ever in gym.
consider this my way of getting us all excited about BACK TO SCHOOL!

also, my apologies to the unfortunate teacher who's err...bottom is so well-captured in these photos. although, considering she had just given birth to her third baby like 2 months prior--props, girlfriend.

enjoy your weekend! and let me know--which was your favorite? the GIANT PARACHUTE? or are you some kind of weirdo who enjoyed crab-walking? ooh! or whenever you had to wear those colored pinafores made of nylon mesh to show different teams! sooo flattering!

wow.

it’s been a big week for this little blog.

first, the fine john and sherry of young house love featured our girls’ room.

there i was, minding my own business, getting my old navy shopping groove on, and my phone dinged that i had an email. it was a comment from someone congratulating us on the feature post over at YHL.

WHAAAA??!?!? in the next few hours my blog got more traffic than it has literally seen since i started it over 2 years ago. it was IN.SANE. the comments and questions and emails and requests for more details lead me to second what john and sherry always say—they really do have the BEST readers! (i had a few people even find rug ideas for the girls’ room and email me links! as in—more than one person took time to search out something for ME, who they’ve NEVER MET! for realsies!)

then i got a second surprise--

 

DO YOU SEE THAT??????????

THAT IS MY GIRLS’ ROOM ON APARTMENT THERAPY.

ON.
APARTMENT.
THERAPY.

this, for you non-homeimprovement-blog-reader-types, is a BIG DEAL.

and just when i thought my head had exploded all it could possibly explode, i got a tweet from these guys:

apparently, i was wrong. one’s head can explode over and over and over.

just so i can type it out in black and white for me and for you and for my mother: that’s my girls’ room, on canadian house and home blog.

i knew i loved those canadians. ;)

so at the very real risk of sounding like i think i just won an academy award, i have a list of thank you’s i need to get out.

thank you john and sherry for being so kind to feature other people’s work on your popular blog (yeah, we’re totally on a first name basis now. probably we’re gonna be besties soon. i think my five monkeys will just eat up their little clara.)

thank you apartment therapy for just being the uber-awesome apartment therapy. and mentioning me. i can die happy.

thank you canadian house and home featuring my girls’ room as one of your “stylish kids’ rooms”.

thank you to krista of kiki’s list. it was the gorgeous room she created for her daughter lou that provided the inspiration for my own red and white striped ceiling and aqua walls. she saw my completed girls’ room on pinterest a couple of weeks ago, and sent me a lovely email. and then she put a post up on her blog about it!

i also have to mention and thank, once again, august fields for her boys’ bunk room, the inspiration for our double bunks.

thank you india.

thank you providence.

(!)

and finally,

a HUGE THANK YOU
to all the
readers, browsers, commenters, emailers & friends
who have visited over the past few days.
if you have asked me a question or for more detail—i will ABSOLUTELY be getting back to you within the next few days! in the meantime, you can check my “details” post here that has some basics, or this post all about the bunk beds themselves.

i'm using Capitals, so you know i'm Serious.

sigh.

it's been One Of Those Weeks.
you know the Ones...where you have giant long lists of Things To Be Done in your head everyday.

and at the end of everyday when you think back on which of those Things To Be Done you've actually Completed...
Zero.

half finished projects are everywhere. i have no less than five blog posts photographed and waiting for the words to be added. i even have one ready to go, but i haven't been able to pull the trigger and hit "Publish" yet.
it's kind of a heavy subject, and a lot of sharing.

maybe next week.

logic tells me i must be getting something done. i've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off all week.
that is truly, truly a horrible expression.

i've been running around like...like...an track star training for the olympics? like a 2 year old with a sugar rush? like a dog following a squirrel?

eh. whatev.

i think i may have identified the Source Of My Problems, though. i sat down this morning with my cup of coffee to write up my To Do list for today:



and then i spent ten minutes illustrating it.

because, you know, that's Necessary.

or maybe it's the little one who has decided this last week that the whole Sleeping At Night thing? yeah, not so much. why bother--when there's so much MILKY to drink--five or six or seven times a night.

oh well. at least this rambling has allowed me to say i accomplished One Thing from Today's List: