Burning Questions

Too bad The Universe doesn't have a Formspring account, because there's a couple of things I'd really like to know.

Such as

1 Where do all the socks get off to? Why don't they make a break for it together?
2 Do they meet up with all my missing scissors and dental floss packs to jump rope?

And is it really necessary for American chocolate to be so waxy?

Now it's your turn. What questions would you ask the Universe?

There are some things I will never be a feminist about

And plumbing is one of them. Last week we had an emergency of the plumbing kind. A close encounter of the poop kind.

Spielberg quietly beckoned me to the hallway, "Mom, uh come here please."

"What is it?"

"Just come here."

I accompanied him in to the hall bath. And then I also freaked out. The toilet looked-well there is no other way to describe it-like the scene of a nuclear accident. A nuclear accident involving corn. I know! Sorry for that visual.

It was also mostly empty. So like a complete plumbing ignoramus, I flushed it thinking that the water would just rinse the bowl and presto! back to normal.

Imagine my surprise when the level kept rising and rising. "Quick, bring me the plunger!!!"

"Where is it?" my son yelled. Mr. O had just that weekend rearranged things and the plunger was MIA.

"Never mind that, bring me a bowl, a large one!" In my panic, I'd forgotten that all I needed to do was shut off the water valve under the tank to stem the tide. The veritable Brown Tide.

Finally, both a large bowl and the plunger were found, and I set to work playing Mrs. Plumber O.

Now this is where I tell you that Murphy's Law is true. If you are wearing one of your favorite dresses and the need to administer some toilet CPR arises, CHANGE out of that dress. I'm just sayin'.

By this time the water was overflowing. Did I mention I was also barefoot? Some more colorful vocabulary escaped my lips, and I began to plunge.

Holy Crap (pun intended)! That did not help things. Poo water splashed down the front of my dress and in the direction of my face, swears dripped out of my mouth. Funny thing, toilets do not respond to four letter words like you might think. I began dipping the very large bowl (which has since been cloroxed to death) into the muck to lower the water level and decrease the splash fallout.

Ha. The water continued to rise. In a panic, I called Mr. O. In a panic, I may have yelled at him and demanded he come rescue me. I'm awful, I know. The water, the water was still rising and puddling and pooling across the floor (which has since also been cloroxed to death).

He reminded me how to shut the flow of water off. I did so, but the water continued to make a "run" for it, "Towels! Towels! Please bring me some towels!"

I tell you we were like a bunch of chickens running around with our heads cut off. Except that I was rooted to my spot by a lake of rapidly spreading stench water.

I mopped up the water with the towels and began cloroxing away. This plumbing emergency was way beyond me and my limited cuss library. Mr. O graciously bailed us out. And with nary a cuss, if you're wondering. He's cool like that.

A couple days later Ellie began announcing to me how many squares of tissue she was using every time she used the bathroom. Meanwhile, the toilet kept calling in sick and tossing its cookies (not a pretty picture).

Finally she confessed to me that it was her fault the works had gotten clogged up.  I reassured her that I still loved her, and she promised to never use more than 4 or 5 squares per wipe and that she'd call for help if she needed more than that to take care of things.  

We eventually had to call a family friend who happens to be a plumber and he came over and snaked out the pipes. I've never been so grateful for a plumber. And Clorox.

How are you under pressure? Swears or no?

Well, that was fun

My blog took a nose dive, but thanks to Emily at The Blog Fairy for fixing it. Pretty soon, I'll have some new digs to show you. I'm very excited.

Maybe I will even blog.

Mr. O had his 50th birthday this past week. He woke up to 50 helium filled balloons with love notes from me and the kids attached to each one. Then we hit a family movie and went to dinner.

For his birthday, he received the coolest telescope. In case you didn't know, he's an astronomy buff. The man knows his sky/stars/planets. We've had some fun getting great views of stars I'd never seen before.

I'm heading to BlogHer next week with some fun friends. To be honest, I've got more than a little stage fright going on in my belly.

Ah, Freakout!

Mr O and I decided to catch a flick yesterday and saw Super 8. It is set in 1979 so all the music is from Mr. O's high school years. If you haven't seen it yet, don't worry I'm not going to give too much away.

There are several jumpy parts in the movie--the kind that make you reach for your movie date. Is very good date movie. Right before one of these parts, it got really quiet and you could hear the faint strains of "Take on Me" by Aha. If you are a child of the 80s, you will recognize that there is no way this song could have been coming from the movie sound track.

Dude! It was coming from my purse.

Now sometimes my phone will  turn on Pandora all by itself and some random station will start playing. In a panic, I thought that was had happened. In the dark of the movie theatre I fumbled in the abyss of my bag and finally found my phone. I swear I couldn't hear anything coming from it, but all of the sudden "Ringa, Ringa" from Slumdog Millionaire started playing. It's on my run playlist. Crap.

People turned and looked at me. Ack! I had put my phone on silent. Scrambling, I ripped the back off my phone and pulled the battery out.

What the? I could still hear it. This happened to be in a part of the movie where electronics were acting all possessed. My purse was totally into this movie.

I even ripped the SIM card out. What? It works in the movies all the time. Still, there was music playing. I grabbed my phone and made a quick dash for the door to figure out this mystery. I got out into the hall and not a sound was coming from my phone. I couldn't understand it.

Then Mr. O joined me. He had my bag. There is still music coming from here.


After rooting around some more, I discovered that my iPod was in the pocket and had somehow turned on. It's a newer one with a speaker. So embarrassing. I turned the sound all the way down, shut it off and slunk back into the theater to enjoy the rest of the show.

Have you ever had something like this happen to you?

P.S. There was good use of this song in the actual movie.

Better look quick

Alright, here it is. I'll take it down in a few days. But, there, I've done it. And I'll likely regret it, but life is like that.

Oh Von, I do believe it's your turn.

Swimsuit Confidence?

So, I read this post. And for one crazy moment I considered doing it. I even took the picture and cropped my head off of it. But, nope, I just can't bring myself to put it out there for everyone to see. Mostly, I don't want anyone from high school or any previous boyfs to stumble across that kind of footage. I mean not that I think the chance of that is very high (considering there's only 2 old flames out there), but still. You know?

Do you have the guts to do it? Show me yours, I'll show you mine.

Wait, that didn't come out right.

Stormy

The garden is in, and the tomatoes are hanging on despite being buffeted by gale-force winds last night. As soon as I get them strung up, I'll include a picture.

The baby robins had their flight lesson on Sunday. This one got stuck in the equipment fence yard. His mama still came and fed him worms until she coaxed him out of there. I can't believe how fat they all were, how in the world did all three of them fit in that tiny little nest?

Spielberg shot this storm cloud in our back yard. It looks like the makings of a funnel cloud, doesn't it?

Recently, I've been stupid. It's something I'm rather good at, unfortunately. I don't know how I manage to get myself in the jams I do, except that maybe it's good intentions coupled with a big-ish heart. Thank heavens tomorrow is always a new day and another chance to be better, to do better.

I'm thinking of abandoning my 40 for 40 list. A lot of it doesn't interest me anymore. I think I care about maybe 10 of the things on there. It bugs me that I can't stay focused for more than 5 months, but this is how life is. Some things seem important at the time, but when it comes down to it they really aren't. My family is what's important to me, and as long as we're growing and enjoying each other that is all that really matters.

I used to live and die by The List. Not so much anymore. Who the hell cares about turning 40 anyway?

I'm not really cranky, I could just do with a little more freakin' sun already.

P.S. My foot appears to be healing nicely. I even get to try running on it tomorrow. Funny thing, biking hurts worse than running on it does. It's actually a fracture on my cuboid bone and it usually takes an MRI to diagnose it, so if I run and have no new pain I should be good to go. Otherwise, it's MRI time.

Any fun plans for the weekend? I get to see some friends. Yay!

Birchy, Just Birchy

So. I broke my foot yesterday by pure freak accident and total clumsiness. Note to self: make sure the perimeter is secure when stepping onto new construction. Further note to self: good job not saying any bad words.

At first it hurt bad enough that I was trying not to cry, but boy did my eyes water. By noon the swelling and bruising (pain) was bad enough I had scheduled an appointment with the doctor. I didn't see my usual family doctor, but I think it was best this way. This doctor listened to me when I mentioned that when I'd broken a fall with my hand several years ago, it took three months to diagnose a dislocated wrist bone. So he pored over my foot X-rays and discovered that I'd chipped and possibly broken my navicular bone. It looks like a hairline fracture runs through the bottom corner of that bone. They'll retake an X-ray on Monday.

And I thought I'd get to run again once this horrible rainy season is over. Hah! This horrible weather seems to have no plans on going anywhere. I am doctoring my foot with Birch and Helichrysym oils - good for bone-mending and bruising, respectively.

If I could ever have a dry enough spell to put some plants in, I'd probably have a great garden. At least the weeds will be easier to see.

How are all of you? Any fun weekend plans?

2.6

I ran an off number of miles yesterday because it was all I had time for between running children all over the planet. It bugged me. Like, seriously bugged me.

In fact, at 11:30 last night I was still thinking about going back out and finishing my normal number just to round it off and make it a prettier number. Instead, I stayed home and nestled into Mr. O's side, (totally better than running) but still I thought about it.

And now for today's dilemma, can I resist the urge to finish yesterday's number and add it on to today's route? Or can I just leave yesterday behind me and get today right?

Isn't that what it all comes down to?

Magical Mouse Poop

A few nights ago Ellie woke up around 3 in the morning and came into my room. She'd been coughing and woke herself up. As she crawled into bed with me, she started mumbling about how mouse poop was magic. I asked her to explain.

Well, did you know that mouses fink their pee is juice and that their poop is meat? You don't even have to buy them any food. Can I get a mouse?


I really marvel at the way that girl's mind works, even when she's half asleep.
***

My neck is holding strong. I've been running twice this week and I've gone biking too. I'm having a little anxiety about riding, but then I always have this sensation at the beginning of the season. It is a strange, reckless feeling to be going so fast without being strapped into or onto anything.

I sometimes have a similar anxiety about running. I have a bum right ankle, and it will roll without any warning. It hurts for about 10 seconds and always takes me by surprise - just enough for a cuss word to escape when I suddenly find myself on the ground. After walking around on it for about 30 seconds, I'm fine and good to go. It should be no big deal, but mentally I cringe and find myself thinking that one of these times it's just going to break. And that would really hurt.

Note to self: stop borrowing trouble

I have worked in my yard each time the sun has shone lately. After three months of being mostly sedentary, it feels absolutely wonderful to be moving again. I hope never to take hard work, sweat, and the good kind of body aches for granted again. I have cleaned out the front and rear flower beds and mucked out the garden. This weekend is time to put the peas, romaine and spinach in. We put this yard in with the intent that it be no or low maintenance. Hah! Beauty always requires work, but is always worth it in the end.

Monday, I find out if the camera can come off life support. Fingers crossed.

Have a lovely weekend everyone! What are you doing to enjoy Spring?

Hickey Conventions - they're not quite what they're sucked up to be.

Sometimes you may have a cereal/milk drought in your home and so you decide to get creative with oatmeal. And then you remember (only a little too late) how well that went over last time. I saw a quote on Twitter that sums it up well: "Diarrhea doesn't care who your parents are." And it's true, I bear you my testimony of that. It doesn't care that I'm Ellie's mom and tough as nails.

Sometimes you play a card game in which your 5 year old daughter soundly trounces you. And mostly you lay here trying to find some position in which you didn't want to die. Because when you're desperate, sometimes you make an appointment with certain NEEDLES, that in some cases can alleviate pain from herniated discs for a long time - as in for FOREVER.

Sometimes you pick up a fast food lunch for the girls since - remember: bread drought - and as I do not yet own a time machine, Taco Smell it was.

Sometimes you attend a acupuncture session and realize the trigger points (how could there be so many) and herniated discs are just the tip of your bad health iceberg. A dear, long-time friend used her training and knowledge on me, and for the most part it felt good. Except I do rather look like I've been to a hickey convention (from the cupping massage). I'd come prepared to be face down (no mascara). One of the trigger points she worked on sent a sharp zing! up my neck. Sometimes you have to put Chinese Ben Gay band aids over such a pissed off trigger point.

Sometimes you go to the grocery store and you forget you have this big circle mark on your forehead and puffy cheeks from having been face down for the past 60 minutes, that is until people begin to stare and avoid eye contact. But there is a cereal drought you must snap, so martyr on you must onward you go. But look! They have those breakfast claws back in stock, and Zingers are ON SALE!! (it's practically your civic duty to stock up), and while we're at it: french toast sounds good, and English muffins, oh and some hot cocoa to go with it. You see where this is headed, right?

Sometimes you end up with the Checker Nazi who not only throws your bread around like a football headed for the end zone, but chucks your bananas and eggs. AND, doesn't bag a damn thing. Sometimes you just suck it up and begin huffily bagging it yourself until crapnuggets you realize your neck is getting stiffer by the minute. So you have to slow down to 80 year old bagging pace.

By this time you are near to tears, because not only is your neck about to pinch off your head, but you've just witnessed a white bread beating. Who does that? I mean WHO SQUEEZES and then SLAM DUNKS the baked goods without even bagging it?! Checker Nazi, that's who.

Sometimes you are walking through the parking lot in like 15 degree weather, and you realize you have no idea where you parked. Not the foggiest idea, at all. At least you remember which car you came in. You walk around beeping your remote locks but because of the wind chill, it's not working. It's too damned cold.

Sometimes you text your husband because you cannot bear to walk around the parking lot again looking like an idiot about to cry (well someone has got to entertain the security camera crew, right). And of course as soon as he offers to come and help you find it, it jumps out of hiding.

Sometimes, on your way home your husband will call you to see where you are and how you are doing, and you tell him, I am sitting here in front of the gas station and I'm going in to buy a Diet Dr. Pepper (like it's hard liquor, or something). You tell him you just got off the phone with the doctor who wants you to come in and discuss your "neck pain" even though you went in the previous week and it was the plan all along to send in a particular rx.

In fact, you start crying because you realize that the durned ring around the face mark is still there from the massage table, you have major hickey-age all over your back, you have on no makeup (because really what's the point when it hurts to lift your arms and it's all just going to get mussed up anyway) and since you are also an ugly crier you now look the part of a junkie, and without even trying.

And the last thing you tell your husband through your sobs is, "And I just bought every kind of junk food there is." And then he laughs, and so do you. Sometimes, it's the only way.

And then you go in there and buy that Dr. Pepper, you have it coming.

Monday Mojo - or the whole pride goeth before a fall thing

And I was so going to brag about today and my speedy recovery. Miss Ellie and I dressed for the cold and did 35 minutes worth of shopping in approx 90 mins, not too shabby. Only since I'm so out of practice the cell phone stayed home and of course somebody was on death's door and needed me - why, oh why, oh why, wouldn't you pick up?

Answer: I'm a dingbat and forgot about phones and people needing me from time to time.

Then, after an hour's recoup with a hot rice bag tending my tummy, I ran down to pick up carpool. Only guess what, communication breakdown (spoiler: this is totally going to become a theme) and both of us showed up. I felt terrible, this was my first day back and I'd botched it already, again.

There was that lovely 30 minute interval of being invited into Vampire Ellie's Office (the bathroom) where she invited me to sit upon the only available seating in such offices, where-upon she opened her laptop (magnetix box) and proceeded to diagnose fix my broken pipes (bathrooms, being as they are, places of plumbing). She's such a clever girl, never breaks character while in vampire plumber mode.

But then hounded (well it didn't start out that way) the girls into finishing off their bits of homework. People took off in various directions and I thought, Perfect, now I can get into bed and rest.

Only Gotcha! Because instead I thought, What a perfect time to make chocolate chip cookies (the honest-to-goodness from scratch kind)!

It went actually pretty well, but it's also where I wore out my last reserves - of patience, of strength, of energy, of being actually vertical. Only I didn't realize the full extent of it until 7 PM. I do not do well making decisions on ANYTHING past one lump, or two (we're talking sugar here, don't worry too much) when my reserves are down.

And all of us could see it comin' and none of us seemed to have the sense to derail it, most of all - me. I persisted by overseeing the baking of the bacon (425, foil-lined cookie sheet, turn every 3-4 minutes until desired level of crispiness is attained), while Mr. O stepped in and fulfilled the rest of French Toast Monday. I don't know where any of us would be without him. He is the MAN. He really is.

I mean he only left for a haircut and some needed antibiotics and returned to mama's every last spring having been sprung. And so here it is, the deal: I will pace myself.

There are only so many things I seem to be able to do in a day, and clearly they are not the same number of things as 3 weeks ago. Please, self, to remember this. Or I'ma have to ground your butt clear into next Tuesday.

At least after this there are chocolate chip cookies.

The Problem With Tomorrow

It's the beginning of the year, I just had major surgery, and I'm in a funk. (I had to reread that last word about three times to make sure it didn't say "fink").

Mr. O, bless his heart, has really picked up the slack around here, but well, today is the two-week mark since my insides were puffed up to resemble the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, and some things--namely, the Organic Uterus--were removed, and other things--most notably, not the Organic Bladder because that is the one organ I have that is made of steel, y'all--were repaired, and well, I should be to back normal, or at least normal-ish. But no, in addition to still looking about 5 months pregnant, my energy levels would not register on even the most sensitive of Richter scales. I am most comfortable in this position

I did forget to send in my mail-order prescription for my thyroid medicine, and have been without it for going on two weeks now. Hmmm, maybe there is some correlation between the two. And something about the way my innards are feeling makes me wonder if I got put back together altogether properly. I trust my doctor, I do. I am just feeling bummed out (pun intended, and how).

Around about 5 PM everyday, I start thinking about tomorrow and how it (tomorrow) will be different - how I will take on The World or at least that corner of my bedroom that is an absolute disaster of paperwork, yarn, needles, books, and you-name-it, it's in that corner - because, as you know, World Domination begins with reclaiming corners.

I pull out my notebook and I contemplate lists - granted, I don't actually make the lists I just ponder what I might put on them. Like:

1. Start with the corner

2. Finish with the rest of the World

But then my mind turns to the favorite pen I am holding in my left hand (the hand that would do the actual writing of said list(s)) and I think, "You know, there really isn't enough letter writing in the world. It's a dying art."

Then I start thinking about how I should begin a letter writing campaign, sending off letters to anyone and everyone I know to see if I get any nibbles on the line - like trolling for fish, except in this case, it's for letters, see?

And then I start thinking of all the other things there aren't enough of either, like knitting, or rather, how there aren't enough people with hand-made items from the people who love them, and I start rummaging through all the various projects and patterns at Ravelry.com.

And, oh dear, I can tell by my rambling that I must still have some analgesics (that's Dr. Pepper and chocolate to you non-medical people out there) in my system. Before you know it, it is way past bedtime, so I shut down the computer, pull out my book, and fall asleep with my book light on, never having read a word, but thinking "Tomorrow, tomorrow. For sure this time, tomorrow."

Morbid Like That - TMI

If you are my mother or husband or don't like TMI posts, pretend this post is about making some lovely snowflakes and go visit How About Orange.

I have been cleaning all day, vacuuming this and dusting that. The reasons are twofold: one, we are expecting some rather lovely people who have been supportive of Ty and know of his love for music to enjoy singing from Mindy Gledhill and a few of the Lower Lights AND two, I am having surgery right before Christmas.

So.

Must clean the house in case, you know...the unthinkable happens. Because worse than leaving this world sooner than you're ready to is leaving it with a dirty house.

Right. Back to steaming the shower and scrubbing the floors.

(No, I really don't think I'm going to die on the table, I'm just a wee bit superstitious. Clean house = nothing bad will happen.) Anyone else like this?

I am also busy making treats, please to eat them all when you come.

P.S. The surgery is not a big deal, my baby-maker is just being rude and uncooperative and must vacate the premises. I will miss you baby-maker, and thank you for growing my five lovely babies. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

P.P.S. I know the timing seems strange, right before Christmas and all, but when you can't lift for 6 weeks and you have an 85 lb. son who requires daily lifting....well then, you have to do it when your husband is home and can help. That, dearies, is just life.

And now if you'll excuse me, my wood floor is begging to be polished.

Superwoman or Stoopid?

Remember that lovely trip to the doctor's office? I usually ask my mom to come along, but this time I took Ty and Ellie on my own, because I am either Superwoman or stoopid (same thing, really).

Please notice the sticker on Ellie's dress for later.


It's the sort of appointment that takes an hour to get to, an hour or two of waiting for the doctor, and an hour of driving home (made significantly longer by stopping for sweets for Ty's teacher and classroom aides (just because, sweets for the sweets you know?)


and picking up these lovelies)

Which Ty grew himself (with the help of Mark, his intervener).

It turns out that Horticulture is one of Ty's favorite classes this year. He has to measure his plants everyday and note whether they have grown, and he has to care for them. This wouldn't be possible without Mark's help, of course - but it's something Ty looks forward to (also Ty's plants were the biggest and best in the greenhouse, very awesome).

Anyhow, as we're walking out of the high school (and let's not forget I'd spent the morning at the hospital and run into the Sweet Tooth Fairy) Ellie says to me, Mom where's your sticker?

Aside: Remember the sticker I told you to remember for later? The big one that says VISITOR? Yeah, that one.

I look down, Hmm, I don't know. Maybe I threw it away already.

No you didn't. I sticked it on your back.

Oh? You're a funny girl. I'm sure I threw it away.

Nope, want to me take it off?

Me, with big eyes as realization dawns: Uh...yes, please.

Turns out she'd put it on my back within 10 minutes of arriving at the doctor's office and I'd worn it that way, oblivious, for three hours. Love that Ellie girl.

Reunited

Turns out the dog's name was Minnie and she'd wandered about a mile from her family. To tell you the truth I'm glad we were able to get them back together. Minnie was a sweetie but she was also a digger and a door/gate scratcher. I have nose and paw prints everywhere. Plus she was an inside dog and I'm not an inside dog kinda gal.

This morning I was off to get my lashes, erm, relashified, when Ellie moaned from the back seat, I don't feel so well. And since she had been playing at being sick the past few days (because it is fun to have yermom wait on you hand and foot, dontcha know?), I didn't really believe her. And if there is one thing I've learned (now) it is that when a 5 year old tells you their tummy is gonna 'frow up, you should listen. Especially when you are hurtling along at 70 mph on the freeway and that child is sitting directly behind you.

Note to self: move car seat to other side of car.

Further note to self: stock the glove box with ziplocs

Further further note to self: the handi-wipes do you no good AT HOME, ON THE COUNTER

Orange Chicken

3 chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces

To bread Chicken
Dip chicken in the following mixture:
3 eggs, beaten
1 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper

Then coat chicken in the following mixture:
1 c. flour
1/2 c. cornstarch

Repeat if you like a more battered chicken. Fry 3-4 minutes in hot oil until chicken is a goldeny brown. Don't overcook the chicken (cut a few nuggets open to see that it's cooked when you're first starting out).

Orange Sauce
10 Tbsp Sugar
10 Tbsp Vinegar
3 Tbsp Soy Sauce
Zest of one orange
1 Tbsp corn starch

Mix all together and boil over medium heat until thickened. I also add OJ one Tbsp at a time, to taste. Set aside.

In a large wok/pan, saute
2 cloves of pressed garlic
1 Tbsp minced ginger root (can sub 1/2 tsp ginger spice if needed)
in 3 Tbsp chicken broth

until you can smell the garlic, gingery goodness. Add 1 bunch of chopped green onions and crushed red pepper to your desired level of spiciness. Then dump in the sauce and the fried chicken pieces. Serve over rice (we use Basmati - smells absolutely divine).

Enjoy!

Just curious, have you ever had a day like this:

Thankfully, it ended with one of these:

Ahhhh.

Winning the Battle? Well now, that's crazy talk!

So tonight I skipped out on two activities (both of them I really wanted to go to) - I had a legitimate excuse, BUT I was relieved.

Relieved that Ty needed me to help him out, because then I wouldn't have to be around people. Whah-? People who I care what they think of me and who, perhaps, I'd screw up in front of by mere function of opening my mouth. And in the back of my head I know no one gives a second thought to what I do or say (except myself, of course) or at least I am hoping that it's true. That it's all up in my head and I am just making myself all wound up about stuff that really doesn't matter. Except it does, to me. And at the same time I just wish those same people even knew who I was besides "the new/old girl", which is kind of difficult when you rarely attend full events.

I mean I love people, I really, truly do. I just need to remember that when I'm in the middle of them. And now......I just untyped a bunch of stuff that showed how vicious a cycle anxiety is. Meh. If you've been there, you know.

Anyway if you suffer anxiety in any form, I've got your back. It's a tough row to hoe, but I hear it can be done.

Preview - true to my roots

I've gone back to the dark side.

Mondays are exhausting

Today I played Go Fish! with a five year old and got trounced. Soundly.

Then I spent the afternoon trying to find a cheap, quality sewing machine. Totally not as easy as it sounds. I also grocery shopped.

AND actually made dinner. Except that it was breakfast. But it was muy tasty even if I do say so myself. Then math homework all around. And a lavender foot rub for an insomniac five year old. Then more homework (every Monday it is the same).

Oh! And I squeezed in a workout which probably only works off ten of the @#$ peanut M&Ms I ate today.

How was your Monday?