Still Here, Flying High

I'm not dead. Definitely NOT pregnant. Just coming out of writer's block. I couldn't think of anything un-boring.

I thought the adventure of taking my children to the craft store would be enough blog fodder--they were less than ideal and I was embarrassed, but I could not remember enough dramatic detail to make it worthwhile. However when I called my mom to ask her something and was muttering about my wild children, she said, "I hear some kids...are those yours?" And she laughed. Yeah, they were mine and they were halfway across the store. I'm not lying. It's a small craft store. Not boutique small, though.

Then I wondered if it was worth mentioning about little S-man peeing on his sister in the tub. But it was definitely one where you had to be there.

And don't think Mr Destructo hasn't been busy. But I blocked out half the crap he did to save those scattered brain cells from shrivelling up or running screaming to Loonytowne. There was one day I thought for sure he had killed or paralyzed his little brother (on accident, of course). Luckily S-man has guardian angels and was completely out of harm's way--which this time was in the form of the wooden board from the bunk bed (the long one that keeps kids from rolling off) being thrown off and onto the floor.

You'd think I could have taken pictures of the booty on Christmas morn, but remember I'm halfway mental. I don't think I took one of the kids with their stuff. I might regret it later. I did think it was of the uppermost importance however to get a picture of

the scissors that broke opening the toys.

Note to self: don't buy cheap scissors for opening Percy and Toby trains.

But finally, I think I have something good, but I'm sure is only really of interest to me. After three months--at least--of several gallons of paint sitting in my laundry room waiting to be used, and talking about doing it for longer than the three months, I finally began phase one of

painting the living room.

Ooh! See those bumps under the star's right arm? Take note of them.

I never loved this brown color because it was too rusty and not enough chocolatey for me and those huge white spots? They're the joke my husband will never live down. (Don't worry, he laughs at it too.) Where he put massive amounts of spackle on nail holes (that were rather big nail holes) and then lightly sanded the top--rather than sanding the stuff down until it was flush with the wall. I have lived with those lumps for 3 1/2 years! (Oh and more than half of those are mistakes from the people before us. We're not that bad at painting.)

We've since learned how to spackle, but imagine my relief when the lumps sanded off easily with the sander. I thought for sure the paint would be cured as hard as a rock. Proved otherwise. Questioning the integrity of the paint I use.

Before this gets too monumentally boring, I have a surprise coming on these walls, that's not a surprise to some people because I don't always keep secrets well (make notes to yourself on that one), that I hope works and doesn't inspire an I-hate-painting-and-they-need-to-invent-new-swear-words-because-just-I've-exhausted-all-the-ones-currently-available-plus-the-one-English-word-I-know post. I'll keep you posted. I promise. Maybe I'll make the goal to post once a week at least. Because so many people out there are just dying to read my gibberish. Not really. I'll have all 13.7 of you know, I decided as I was already painting that maybe I'd make the resolution to not be lazy this year. Yeah, we'll see how well that goes.

Here's the gingerbread cookie the hubster decorated to look like my missionary brother. Who comes home in TWO WEEKS!!!! He's going to get a big shock leaving Panama for a foot of snow (and counting). I'm going to say, this cookie looked a lot better than the ones he did with pink frosting that were a little, well, suggestive. Needless to say, I think we learned that we cant's do really big sloppy dots in a hurry. Sorry, no pictures. This is a family blog.