needling

Sugar Daddy was off with the Search and Rescue folk this weekend to climb rocks and practice hero work. Thom and I stayed behind to find fun to be had.

We kicked off our weekend on Friday by having Thom's blood drawn for a routine anemia check which, I'm sorry to report, lead to another trip to Mc Donalds.

After Thom was tucked in and sleeping soundly, I gathered up all my embroidery thread and headed to the fluffy comfort of my bed to watch Little Dorrit on the lap top and get organized for a rather ambitious embroidery project I am starting. I search the house for all errant needles and put them in the little wooden cylinders, ready to be used at a moments notice.

I love organization. I wish I was better at it.

On Sunday evening Thom and I headed over to Jenny's house for a casual bar-be-que. I found that I was feeling a little peevish after a weekend of single parenting and so I took out my angst on the Hurst family. I went from one child to the next, needling them and teasing until I got some kind of response. Andre and Jenny know me well enough to just let these moods take their course and they happily offered up their children and each other as victims.

Sugar Daddy returned home later that night, swooping in like good heros do, to save the day and play with Thom until he was tuckered out and reaching for his bed.

One weekend down, four more to go until B-day!

the blinding high gloss of an organized life

As odd as it sounds, organized closets make me feel like a better person. Somewhere along the way I picked up the notion that being organized and tidy, is akin to being responsible. Maybe I heard "cleanliness is next to Godliness" too many times. Who knows.

The curious thing for me is that I am most creative in chaos. I try to keep my work bench organized. I really do. Every month or so I do a major clean up and put every thing in its place, but as soon as I sit down to work, things entropically end up strewn everywhere. I cook this way too, in a muddle of flour, butter, pots and pans.



I have realized lately that for me pandemonium spawns creativity. And yet, I continue to strive to keep things shipshape and June Cleaver clean. It is, quite frankly, an unrealistic ideal. I mean, seriously, who lives like this?

Someone with OCD no doubt.

The other funny thing is artificial nails. I have no desire whatsoever to have fake nails. Indeed, they would pop off the moment I hit the work bench, and yet, I see women with their nails all shiny and manicured and I think- man, that chick really has her shit in a pile (to use one of my little brother's phrases). The high gloss lacquer mesmerizes me. The fact of the matter is that they recently came out with a study that proved that artificial nails harbor all kinds of bacteria and disgusting stuff. And yet, if you are sporting fakies, and I see you around, I'm gonna think you really have it all together. That's just how weird I am.