Motivated by a desire to sew (and the need for space to do it), I've been digging out my office today. The minions were on garbage detail, and, if I'm not mistaken, may even have tidied the shed, but they really can't help with my space, here. I'm not sure I'm ready to share any before and after pics just yet, but I've made some progress I'm pleased with.
I'm also painfully aware of how many times I've used "I", or some variant of it in the first three sentences. But then, it's my blog, so there ya go.
As I sorted and cleaned between loads of laundry, I had an epiphany and then a near tragedy.
First the good news. Looking at my closet I realized, in a brief flash of insight, that I could hang my purses and bags rather than just making an untidy pile of them in one corner of a shelf. (I know, I know, I can hear the collective, "Duh," from the smarter women out there. Clearly, I am a slow learner.) Much better. Oh, the simple pleasures of life. I should have quit while I was ahead.
Encouraged by that bit of progress I continued organizing and tidying the closet, and that's when it happened. I reached for a bag at the back of the shelf, which I thought contained mementos from our Disney vacation of 2007, but may actually be full of the boys' baby teeth (I thought I got rid of those? ewww!) and cassette tapes my grandma made in the late 60's and early 70's, of my cousin and me playing school (kind of funny) and then repeating the word "hot dog" about 800 times in what we thought were hilarious and wildly inventive voices. Ah, good times.
But I digress.
Reaching for said bag, I knocked this to the floor.
That, my friends, is not just the rich and tasty, goodness that is Nutella. Oh no. That is my
personal, self-medicating, PMS survival kit.
A real splurge. A brand new, unopened, 26.5 ounce tub. Horrified, I had to force myself to look down, to survey the damage. But, by the grace of God (who takes pity I'm sure, on women and their hormones), only the lid was broken, and I was able to find a jar lid from the kitchen that fits perfectly. Hallelujah and amen. Because you really shouldn't come between a hormonal woman and her hazelnut spread.
I'm just sayin'.
Then, to top off the day, Kerry felt that the boys would benefit from watching the Republican Presidential debate, so we invited ourselves up to my parents (we don't get TV). The best thing about the whole evening (besides my mom cooking dinner) was planning PTO days clear up to June. The boys dutifully watched about an hour of the debate, though Tate couldn't hear most of it, and Gunnar couldn't understand most of it, leaving Wyatt to soldier on.
Frankly, I'm finding it difficult to get interested in any of the candidates, though I would vote for a
before I would vote for Obama, so there ya go.