I May Be Addicted

I may be addicted.


I had a mini-“help”er.

I’ve spent eight+ hours over the past two days, basically this whole weekend, painting a bedroom. At 6:30 tonight I changed my paint-laden pants into a semi-clean skirt and took my daughter out to buy a bathing suit for tomorrow because the one she bought after church today, during the “entire family buys bathing suits after church extravaganza”, didn’t look right (to her). Of course, as soon as I reached the shopping center I realized it was Sunday and the shops would be closed by 6PM. It was 7:08PM. I promised the girl we would stop at the store on the way to the pool tomorrow and get her a suit, I sent her into the local ice cream parlor for a vanilla milkshake for dinner, swore her to secrecy since the sisters weren’t getting ice cream and came home.

Dishes need to be done, my house is trashed and all I really want to do is lay down and sleep. Or watch Signed, Sealed and Delivered, whichever comes first.

I think not.

I think not.

Before any of that could happen I was hugging my tearful seven year old whose heart was breaking because she didn’t get ice cream (somebody spilled the beans) and I smelled smoke on her hair. When I asked why she smelled like smoke she told me it was because there was smoke upstairs. Uh oh.

“Why does it smell like smoke upstairs?” I yelled up the steps.

My thirteen year old said it was the potatoes on the stove.


The boiling potatoes for the potato salad for tomorrow that I put on the stove. And forgot about.

This confirms that I really shouldn’t be allowed near kitchens or basically attempt to work at all for the rest of the night.

Yet here I am. 7:39PM on a Sunday night and I feel compelled to blog.

I wonder what disasters I’ll find when I read this post tomorrow…

Happy Memorial Day!

Happy Memorial Day!


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I like to wear skinny jeans because when I pull them up I get to do a little shimmy to get them over my bottom. I love to shimmy. We good Christian girls don’t get many opportunities for shimmying. I take what I can get.

I shimmied into my bathing suit for the first time yesterday since last summer. There was also some tucking and stuffing involved.

My eleven year old was having a birthday party with her two besties at the local indoor water park and I admit to seriously looking forward to those five hours in the hot tub by myself. Sadly, I was hardly alone, the hot tub was packed. On top of that, most of the jets didn’t work and the ones that did were so forceful I needed a seatbelt to keep myself from being ejected from the seat and out of the pool. To top it off, as soon as I sat down, a man with a towel on his head (yes, an actual towel) sat right in my personal space. Not cool.

However, before any of this ever happened, I did need to spend a little extra time in the shower shaving parts of me that hadn’t seen a razor since last August. The Winter Build Up. I figured if the amount of time shaving The Winter Build Up equaled the amount of time I would get to relax in the hot tub, it would be a pretty fair trade.

In the end I spent most of my time with a damp towel wrapped around me (not my head) reading a novel that I read before. Not bad for a Monday night.

And at least I enjoyed the shimmy.