Tweet! Tweet!

Because I need another time suck, I decided to Twitter along with the rest of the world, including Barack Obama. If you would like to see how effectively I mismanage my time throughout the day, you are more than welcome to follow me tweet right HERE. Stop by and say hi! :)

Favorite Moment

As an adult, the childhood moments we laugh about most with our parents are the moments where we were sure they would have killed us had they been able to hide the bodies. I think this is because at its core, the moment is built on hysteria--first anger, then laughter. There is one story in particular that make my brothers and I laugh until we can't breathe.

Hawaii, 1982.

In order to find this funny, you have to understand my father. Vacations with him were best likened to triathlons. Only the fittest and psychologically strong individuals survived. There were no sick breaks. Montezuma's Revenge? As a physician he felt confident in giving you a near lethal dosage Pepto Bismal, which had the added benefit of constipating you for the rest of the vacation and thereby sparing him those inconvenient 5 minute bathroom breaks. Car sick? Roll down the window and pray the puke doesn't fly back in your face. We didn't count on sleep, either. No matter where the locale, we were always up at the crack of dawn to catch some obscure 14 hour bus tour. If there was a monument, a ruin, a landmark, or a frayed ball of twine of some significance, there is a picture of me, my mom, and my brothers standing in front of it looking exhausted.

True to form, our family vacation in Hawaii amount to us touring all the islands in 10 days. We stopped at every beach, peered down every volcano, and sampled every pu-pu platter from Kona to Kuai. One day dad decided to visit some beach that was particularly important for some reasons that allude me now. As usual, dad encouraged us to observe all the native plants and read all the markers lining the path to the beach. We were 9, 6, and 3; we couldn't care less about some waca-caca plant dating back to the Mesozoic era and my mom, charged with taking care of the lot of us, didn't care, either. We kept walking, but eventually the weight of Catholic guilt forced us to stop a few yards down the path and watch him read dutifully the history of the great waca-caca plant.

And read it he did. From beginning to end, he read every last sentence while shouldering the weight of an ice chest, a beach umbrella, 4 beach bags, a boogie board, a pail, and two shovels. He looked like John Candy in Summer Rental.

There we were, my mom, my brothers, and I, looking back at him in apathy. Shoulders slumped, dejected and beaten, we stood there as he read out loud all the critical information we were missing regarding the waca-caca plant from 10 yards away. Finally, finally, he made a move towards us--towards the beach. But something on the marker caught his eye, and he turned back briefly. It was a move that would live on in infamy, because while his head turned back his feet kept moving. If he had been staring ahead instead of at the marker, he would have noticed his Hawaiian flip-flop shod foot was perched on the edge of a craggly, sandy step. He would have known to step down and not out. But alas, he was thinking about waca-caca and had no idea he was about to eat shit.

He did the splits and bounced back up like a toy soldier in The Nutcracker. He fell backwards, but thought quickly and used the beach umbrella as a pole-vault. Unfortunately, he put all his weight into that vault and succeeded only in launching his sherpa-like body two feet forward. He twisted and turned, the centrifugal force of the beach bags and ice chest keeping him in place while above his head the pail and shovels flew towards freedom. It was choreographed chaos, and it was over in ten seconds.

We stared back at him, amazed at his agility; he never fell, and never dropped so much as a grain of sand. Inside my belly a chuckle started to form. My mom snorted. My brothers stole a glance at each other and said simply, "Whoa."

My dad, on the other hand, was not amused. Just seconds ago he was pirouetting across lava rock and he had to save face. He contorted his red face into a mask of anger and growled between bared, clenched teeth, "HOT DAMN, WILL YOU GUYS HURRY UP?!"

My mom, now shaking under the strain of hiding her laughter couldn't help but point out smugly, "But we're ahead of you."

No longer interested in the waca-caca plant, my dad stormed off towards the beach while my brothers and I imitated his near fall again and again down the path to the beach all the while wiping tears of laughter from our eyes. We couldn't stop laughing, and 16 years we are still laughing. The only difference is that now my dad joins us; it's one of his favorite stories.

A while back I was thinking of this story and tried to imagine what story Mikey and Nicholas would share years from now at the expense of the Mister and I. I can only imagine what piece of family history will make them laugh decades later. In keeping with this thought and my desire to document as much of their childhood as I can without scrapbooking, I've started taking pictures of those moments where I debate putting the boys on the curb next to our recycling. Invariably, by the time I get my camera I am already cooled off enough to see the humor in whatever it was that had me infuriated moments earlier.

It doesn't always work, and I won't even bother trying it for big transgressions when they are older, but it certainly worked on Thursday afternoon when I walked outside the office to find Nicholas playing "paleontologist" under Mikey's direction. The planter beds were all but destroyed, empty of every last piece of green. Dirt strewn two feet in every direction and Mikey, clean as a whistle, imploring that Nico "dig deeper" for fossils. And dig he did.

I pulled him out of the flowerbed and yelled at the sight of our destroyed garden. Then I remembered: this might be it. This might be the story we laugh at 16 years from now. So I put him down and ran into the office for my camera. Nicholas resumed the dig, and I started living in the moment, only stopping when he started eating rocks.

Things I Hope to Never Forget

When going for a drive meant a trip to the end of the street in a little red wagon.

One Bad Egg

Jules: "Mikey, I have a surprise for you!"

Mikey: "OH! I'M SO EXCITED! Let me close my eyes and then you can tell me what it is!"

Jules: "OK, are you ready?"

Mikey: "YES! YES! YES"

Jules: "OK! OPEN YOUR EYES!!"

Mikey: {gasp!!} "DINOSAUR EGGS! You found fossils at Vons, Mama! Are they going to hatch?"

Jules: "YES! But we have to put them in warm water first, ok?"

Mikey: "Let's do it right now! I'm so excited, Mama!"

Jules: "Me, too! How about we make this one hatch?"

Mikey: "YES! I love yellow. This is going to be perfect!"

Jules: "OK. Here we go!"

Mikey: "Here we go!"

{1 minute later}

Mikey: "Is it hatching?"

Jules: "Not yet. We need to be patient."

{2 minutes later}

Mikey: "Is it hatching?"

Jules: "Not yet. Soon. I promise."

{3 minutes later}

Mikey: "Is it hatching?"

Jules: "Almost. Any second now."

{4 minutes later}

Mikey: "MAMA! I think it's hatching! It's going to be a baby T-Rex!"

Jules: "Oh! You're right! Won't be long now. Maybe it will be a T-Rex, but there are plenty of other dinosaurs, too. Part of the fun is waiting to see which dinosaur is going to hatch."

{5 minutes later}

Mikey: "MAAAAAAMAAAAAAA! IT HATCHED! IT HATCHED! It's a....It's a....It's a....Mama? What kind of dinosaur is that?

Jules: "Let me see. Oh. Well. Huh." {Squirrel? Rorschach Test? Where is that dinosaur egg box?!}

Jules: "Hmmm. Well, according to the box it's a protoavis."

Mikey: "Oh. And what is that, Mama?"

Jules: "That, Mikey, is what happens when dinosaur cousins get married."

A Mother's Love

Mikey is the boy who greets everyone with a hug--whether they want one, or not.

Mikey is the little boy who brings dinosaurs to school to show his principal the difference between an Apatosaurus, a Tyranasaurus Rex, and a Spinosaurus. Then he'll tell her how they lived in Center America and that's where paleontologists can find their fossils.

Mikey is the little boy who knows the alphabet, can count forwards and backwards, and does simple addition and subtraction.

Mikey is also the little boy teachers are suggesting needs a third year of preschool. For all that academic heft, he's a bit of a rascal. He is, as they say, immature for his age. He doesn't sit still during reading circle time, loves to wrestle and put out imaginary fires, and if it wasn't for his ability to hear the theme song to Lazy Town in the shower while the T.V. is set to mute, I would assume he is deaf. By the way, Lazy Town? Freakiest show ever.

Every day when I drop him off at school I remind him to put on his listening ears and to sit still and listen during Reading Circle. Every morning he looks at me with those gumball-sized gray eyes and says, "Of course, Mama!"

Every afternoon I pick him up and ask his teacher how he did. And every afternoon she says, "He's working on it!" Translation: you're lucky your kid is cute and friendly.

Last year, Mikey did better as the year progressed. By the time the school year ended, his listening skills were much improved--enough so that I had high hopes for this year. Right now, they are all but dashed. I'm at a bit of a loss. He doesn't have any problems listening at home. He behaves very well, minus a few typical 4 year old transgressions, and doesn't give me half the problems I hear and see my friends experiencing with their own kids. There is just something that happens to Mikey when he gets around a group of kids that makes him, literally, devolve into some quasi-hominid.

I explained all of this to his teacher on Friday. She suggested I cut out most of his T.V. time and encourage him to play cards, board games, puzzles, etc. Sounds easy enough. She then suggested I tire him out by playing outside and going on bike rides. Again, that sounds easy enough. Then she suggested that maybe, just maybe, he needs to be around more kids his age. You know, so he can learn what is appropriate behavior (i.e., quit hugging everyone), not get so excited every time he sees someone his size, and basically chill out when among his peers. She suggested we socialize. That didn't sound easy at all.

The Mister and I, we're home people. As I have mentioned before, we don't like big parties or crowds or organized clubs. We don't even watch reality T.V.--that's how averse we are to people we don't know.

Mikey, on the other hand, loves to be around people. He greets strangers with a handshake and a smile. "Hi! My name is Mikey K. and I love dinosaurs." He will play with anyone and lights up whenever he sees other children. He really is a people person.

So, on Friday, as I watched him run around the room with Benjamin putting out imaginary fires and then later hold Brooke's hand while her mom and I walked towards our parked cars, I thought to myself that if Mikey needs to socialize and be around more kids, so be it. If he is happy, I am happy. And that's when I realized they weren't lying when they said there isn't much a mom won't do for her child.

Favorite Moment

Who says favorite moments have to be about kids and family and everything nice? Not this narcissist. Today it's all about me!

So, did you see? Those lovely Virginians, John & Sherry, from This Young House created for me a little moodboard for my Mamie pink bathroom. Not too shabby, eh?


The Mister is quite taken with it, really. Of course I love it, as it features prominently that silly rubber-maned giraffe I love so much. Some people mentioned they don't understand my enchantment with him, and to that I say some things are like acid-washed z Cavaricci jeans from the 80s: they can't be explained and you just have to work through the fad and burn all photographic evidence.

We both love how it is "little boy" because it celebrates two little guys who won't always take baths together and won't always marvel at shooting soap out of a lion's spinal column. While we have them young and squishy, we wanted a bathroom equally sweet. I think when we are done it will be fun, happy, and, dare I say, whimsical?

To read more about it go HERE. To get your own moodboard go HERE. I know doing these design boards take a lot of time and effort, especially when there is a challenge like mine. Sherry even called a few bathroom enclosure manufacturers for me regarding some issues with fixtures and extensions and all sorts of other boring things. All that hard work is much appreciated. Thanks, guys!

That's What She Said.

The Mister and I are excited for The Office to start up again next week. Last season wasn't my favorite, but I have high hopes for this year. I can't wait to watch. {That's what she said.}

The Mister, this is for you.

I Forgot the Things I Hoped to Never Forget.

So I haven't done much with my flickr group. I'm terrible about adding tags to my pictures, creating witty titles, and sharing pictures. And to be honest, I kind of forgot about it. I need to have an email announcement for it because out of inbox, out of mind. But, that needs to change, and much like I have used this blog to catalog little thoughts and memories and stories that amount to my favorite moment in the week, I will now use this blog for the same purpose, but in picture format.

I had hoped other people would start writing about they're favorite moments, but except for one person, it hasn't happened yet (that I know of). So, I'm hoping other people out there will join me in photographing and sharing those memories you think you will never forget but often do because in the end life becomes about milestones. If you're anything like me, you'll remember potty training, but you just might forget how much you love the smell of fresh wipes and diaper ointment.

You'll remember all your speeding tickets, but you just might forget he loves to sit in his carseat and watch the orange tree leaves rustle in the winter.

You'll remember when so-and-so got divorced, but you just might forget the first time you caught them playing together on their own.

You'll remember the first time you bought a house, but you just might forget how small he looked when he first starting using adult sized bowls.

And I could go on, but I won't because you are probably bored by now. I don't plan to make every picture about the boys. I hope I don't, actually, because it's a bit predictable. But, it's also realistic. Life is all about phases, and right now I am in mom phase. So, expect to see a cute mug every now and then. I won't write much, if anything, on those posts because I am hoping the pictures will speak for themselves.

I don't know how often I will post a picture about Things I Hope to Never Forget, but I am shooting for once a week. Maybe on Wednesdays? I'm still mulling the day in my head. Hopefully I won't get too caught up in worrying about perfect pictures or perfect content, like I sometimes do with my Favorite Moments. It's not about that, but it is hard to let go when you are a perfectionist. I'm trying.

OK. That's it. The topic is officially exhausted. I am curious to see if anyone joins me in the quest to capture elusive memories. Speaking of memories, I hope I don't forget to pack my camera in my purse this week.

Enough.

I am announcing a moratorium on the pigeon-toe stance. Effective immediately, photography subjects must position feet as one does normally. No more coquette posturing while you (1) look off into the distance and pretend you have no idea you are taking a side-profile picture of yourself in a mirror, (2) gaze, eyes wide and chin down, innocently into the camera like a gamine street urchin, and/or (3) pretend to be some shy, delicate petunia waiting to be plucked from the field of life. You know who you are, blogland.

I've been biting my tongue (but not my lip--that's moratorium for another day) on this issue for some time, but my eyes all but melted when I saw this picture. Point those damn toes north, Oliver Twist, or you'll not be allowed any pudding.

Photo that makes me want to jump inside the picture and kick straight some feet via The Sartorialist.

Dear The Mister,

You have been working all day and probably reading this during your client dinner tonight. Since I might be DEAD by the time you come home, I thought I might just jot down a few notes on how awesome my day is going right now, at 10:00am.

So, I'm still a little delirious from staying up the last 3 nights taking care of sick boys. Since you were taking care of them, too, I am imagine you are pretty exhausted, too. How's that coffee? Yeah. I don't drink coffee. But I do drink diet coke, and since I have to leave the house in a few minutes I might as well buy 235 gallons while I am out.

Why am I going out? Remember when we walked in on Nicholas last night with his feet stuck in the crib rails and choking on his own puke? And remember how we were all "AAAAAAHHHHHH HE'S DYING!! WHAT DO WE DO!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!" and then we cleaned him off and put him in the tub and he was all, "Hey! A bath! My favorite! . . .What's wrong with you two?" And so you were so freaked out our kid almost went down like Jimi Hendrix you had to do something so you went and put his sheets in the washing machine but didn't remove any of the *ahem* offending material? Yeah. Let's just say I need to go to Target to pick up some laundry supplement with digestive enzymes to do the job Nicholas didn't get a chance to finish. Tomato skins in my washing machine, the Mister. That's all I have to say.

So Mikey got up at around 9:00am and {BONUS} didn't pee in our bed. I was so excited I had one less load of laundry to do, I decided to make everyone breakfast, including myself! I had just finished my 3rd bite when Nicholas decided to slip out of his high-chair straps and attempt to bungee jump to freedom. Naturally, I put down my bagel after only a moment of hesitation and decided while I was letting him kick me in protest, I might as well let him kick me in protest while I put on his clothes for the day. It was awesome. Since he is sick, his kicks are totally weak. So are his lungs. I barely felt or heard anything.

I have to say I was pretty bummed to come back and discover that the dogs ATE MY BREAKFAST. Oh yes, they did. And they had the nerve to lick their chops and burp delicately. I decided not making purses out of their ears should be enough to pay forward the pharmacy-tech's kindness from yesterday.

Mikey is perfecting his football throwing against various walls in the house. This is after he decided to fill his mouth with water, stick all his fingers in his mouth, and with water pouring down his shirt and onto the floor proclaim, "I'm brushing my teeth in a new way!" What the?!

I'm hot, my hair is a mess, and I think I broke my foot.

Well, I better go. Nicholas insists on playing with my old, rusty Buenos Aires license plate and I don't have the energy to take him to get a tetanus shot if he eats it. I'll update you on my day as it continues to deteriorate progess.

Can't wait until you get home. Drive safe. :)

xoxo,
The Mrs.

Operation: NICE Rx

Most of you know I am a big fan of Melissa's new blog, Operation NICE. I think kindness is an idea who's time has come (again) and couldn't be happier to discover how many people are like me--trying to be good and kind, even when you really want to be anything but, and all around sick of the negativity that surround us. Then again, I'm also the attorney who stopped practicing to raise kids and write schmaltzy event wording, so maybe my perspective is skewed? Bah, who cares. I just want to say way to go, Melissa. I am so proud to count you as one of my online friends. And, hey! I had my own encounter with someone NICE today.

Mikey is sick. It's just a virus, but if I learned anything last year, a virus for a little boy with allergies like Mikey means high fevers, barking-seal coughs, and a whole lot of wheezing. I spent most of the night checking on him, rubbing his back, "sleeping" with him, taking his temperature, singing his favorite songs, and pretty much wondering what I could have done since school started to avoid all of this for him. The only thing greater than Catholic Guilty? Mother's Guilt.

I fell asleep around 7:oo am today, so the Mister took Mikey to the doctor's early morning sick hour. He prescribed for him one dose of steroids. The Mister took the Rx to the pharmacy after he dropped Mikey off at home. A couple of hours later, I packed up the boys and headed towards the pharmacy.

Our pharmacy has a drive-thru, and I couldn't have been happier about that as a miserable, feverish Mikey cried quietly in the back seat. As luck would have it, we were out of tissues and Motrin. So, even though I suspected they wouldn't, I asked the pharmacy-tech if there was any way I could buy Motrin and a box of tissues from her. She said no; I had to park and go into the store, which is not part of the pharmacy. {Un gran sigh.} Then she took a peek into the backseat and saw a very forlorn Mikey. She told me to hang on--she would do my shopping for me.

And she did. Five minutes later, she slid through the delivery drawer an Rx for steroids, 1 box of tissues and a large bottle of children's Motrin.

I slid back a note that read,

Thank you so much for thinking of my son.
It is greatly appreciated.
Best,
Jules

Maybe I'm just tired from a long night, but my sunglasses hid my misty eyes just fine as I pulled out of the drive-thru.

{Mikey must have borrowed my camera last week, because I found these tucked in between shots of the house and boys.}

Favorite Moment

"Mama, I want my hair to have a twisted circle like Superman."

"Mikey, I don't think it's long enough for a twisted circle."

"How can I make it grow longer?"

"By eating all the food mama and daddy give you. And taking long naps everyday."

.........2 weeks later.........

"Mikey, what do you want for dinner?"

"If I ate a grilled cheese sandwich would it make my hair grow longer?"

"Uh...I think so, yes."

"Then I want Superman Grilled Cheese Sandwich."

Butterflies in my Tummy

This will be me tomorrow, around 10am. I am having an endoscopy to make sure my ulcers have healed during the past year. I still have heartburn pretty bad, mainly when I eat starches like bread and pasta, so I doubt the erosions in my esophagus are much better. Let this be a lesson to pregnant women out there suffering from heartburn: DO NOT IGNORE IT. I did for most of my pregnancy with Nicholas (I had terrible heartburn from about 6 weeks on) and now have the singed and cancer prone G.I. tract to show for it. Besides, is this how you want to spend every August/September?

See you back here tomorrow! :)

1st Day of Preschool

I miss him already.

ETA: The date on my computer is wrong. I just noticed the auto-date came up wrong and now his sign has the wrong date. Curses!

Favorite Moment

I wish Nicholas would stop sneaking bags of cereal.

You would think I don't feed the kid the way he stuffs his cheeks like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter.

Sure, he thinks it's funny. Just remember, Nico. A moment on the lips...

A lifetime on the hips.

Save My Mamie Pink Bathroom

Raise your hand if you live in a 1950s ranch. We do! The style is not for everyone. Long, low, and open, the floor plans send chills up the spines of colonial fans. And then you have the colors. My God, the colors. When we moved in we had a turquoise kitchen, a pink bathroom, and two yellow bathrooms. Some people were horrified, others loved it. We were in the love it category, although we did get rid of the turquoise kitchen. This morning I felt a pang of guilt; someone on Flickr tagged it as a favorite.

Speaking of Flickr, my pink bathroom is on there as well. Not long after I uploaded the pictures (terrible pictures, as you intend all 'before' shots to be), 50s Pam from Retro Renovation commented something along the lines of, 'Keep it or you suck.' Or, at least that's what I understood her to mean when she said, "I love it and I hope you keep it!" Then she asked me to add it to her Flickr group "Save the Pink Bathrooms!" She is also the blogger behind the popular blog of the same name, Save The Pink Bathrooms. I've been reading the archives for the last few months in search of inspiration.

The Mister and I fell in love with the bathroom the minute we saw her in all her Mamie Pink glory. Well, maybe we didn't love the floor.

Or the shower enclosure.

Or the white toilet seat festooned with hummingbirds.

Or the grandma wallpaper and lights.

But the pink tub, toilet, and sinks outweighed all that other stuff, and God knows we've tried to think of some ways to spit-shine her and make her pretty.

That was three years ago. We got rid of the wallpaper and on the advice of many, embraced the pink and painted the walls a pale, pale shade of the fixtures (Cameo by Ralph Lauren).

That's as far as we have come. Meh.

Eventually we have to remodel the bath. There are problems with the fixtures, and their time is fast approaching. But, until then, I really want to make my little pink bathroom something special. Because, let's face it, when we remodel we aren't going to buy a pink toilet. I want to have fun with it while I can.

I've done my research and found plenty of pretty pink bathrooms, most of them remodeled on the cheap. My favorite to date is this one from Real Simple.

Mabel liked it, too, and it was part of the inspiration behind her own pink bathroom redo. Here is her bathroom. I think she did a great job. Her fixtures are white, as are the fixtures in the Real Simple picture. In reality, they have more pink in their bathroom than I do, which I think if part of the allure for me.



But as pretty as these bathrooms are, I don't think they will work for me. It's not just the lack of pink tile for me. I have another major problem. My pink bathroom? It's the boys bathroom. As much as I would love to paint it yellow and go wild with the flowers, the Mister wants their bathroom to have, "at least one filament of testosterone somewhere." Fair enough.

So how do you take a pink bathroom for two little boys and dude it up? My sister-in-law shared a pink bathroom with her brother growing up and her mom had it decorated in a frog theme. Pink for her, frogs for her brother. I looked at frog stuff but didn't find anything I liked. Besides, I still have fantasies of pink and yellow. It's just so damn chipper! I like the idea of the boys starting the day surrounded by happy colors (and maybe they won't fight me every time I try to brush their teeth).

And while I was always opposed to silly, little kid themes and accessories like frogs and puppies, that all changed when I had my own silly, little kids. I believe that is rule #4582 of "Things I will NEVER do when I have my own kids," in case you were wondering. They just get so flippin' excited to pump soap out of a lion's nose that you end up getting excited, too, which is the only reason I can explain my enchantment with this set from Target.


It's the giraffe. He kills me. He absolutely kills me with his little rubber mane.

So pink and yellow? With yellow, little-boy-friendly giraffes?

That still doesn't solve the problems I have with the floors, wall color, curtains, lights, etc. Maybe I should just call in John and Sherry and let them handle this mess.

EDITED TO ADD: I forgot to mention that I am going cute kid stuff because I've tried doing everything else 3 times without success. I even went against the Mister's suggestion and tried to recreate the Real Simple room with a 2+ hour shopping excursion to Anthropologie. No dice. I returned it all because it looked like ass. Appropriate for a bathroom, yes, but not the look I was going for. Boo-hiss-cry.

If you can tell me how to make it look cool without kid stuff, go for it. I am all ears.

Swapping Links

Sorry, another housekeeping request that I am copying directly from The Reluctant Housewife's blog. If you link to my blog, or read my blog and would like to swap links, please let me know in the comment section. If you are linking to me I would like to return the favor! :)

Thanks!

Odd request, but please indulge me.

Save a few regulars, you all are very quiet. I've been working on three separate posts, and the entire time I'm wondering if maybe it's all too boring? momish? snarky? to post. Maybe I annoy you, maybe I don't seem approachable, or maybe I'm not all that interesting and you are just really, really bored at work and I help you kill time. *cough-Steve-cough* That's cool. My feelings are totally not hurt. {sob}

But here's the thing. I've been talking with some of my friends, telling them how I would love to do a giveaway on the blog. The only thing that's stopping me is, well, I don't know who you are or what you like!

At first I thought I would offer some writing services for free. Then it occurred to me you all might write as a career or hobby and wouldn't need me to write your grocery bill, let alone anything else.

I thought I would offer a bunch of books I have (read but mint condition) since I have now run out of shelf space in the office. Then it occurred to me you may not like to read, or if you do, have enough books of your own.

I thought about doing a collaboration with my more crafty blogger friends. Then I thought you all might have your own craft businesses and need more product as desperately as you need a hole in your head.

And so on and so on.

Let me cut to the chase (um, 6 paragraphs in): I want to do a nice giveaway but I am terrified to offer to the internet something no one likes or wants, which would result in, like, 3 people commenting. That would be humiliating beyond words. This, sadly, is the price you pay for writing a blog about nothing. And everything. But just not something. All this to say I hate to do it, but I'm going to get all Nietzsche on you and ask: Who Are You?

And, NO, I am not looking for demographic information to show advertisers. If I was, I would just say so. I am just painfully insecure and terrified of rejection. (Because I'm sure you haven't guessed by reading anything I have ever written)

Oh! Speaking of advertisers, if you would like to advertise (for free) send me an email via the link to the right. I have a few spots available and am always looking to for pretty blinking things. Maybe that could be a giveaway? I guess it depends on how many people email me.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to go finish a few blog posts you may or may not like.
;)