So I've been trying to be all productive this week--
take for instance, the entire evening I spent sorting, shredding, and filing every semi-important paper in the house.
-I emptied the shredder four times; I filled an entire garbage bag with the shreddings.
-I heard the sound of the shredder in my dreams that night.
-I found myself shredding utility bills from Provo to Timbuktu.
You feel a certain sense of urgency to ensure that everything is organized and in it's place when
1. You tear your house apart all day looking for your son's birth certificate so you can enroll him in kindergarten. And you still show up without it.
2. Your husband asks where he can go to get some money out of the ATM, how many banks we have, and how much money in general their is in there. (Really? Really? I'm keeping this all to myself?)
I'd also like to toot my own horn and say,
that I have now re-found the floor in our closet.
(Could have done without the month old peach pit on the floor, kids.)
And what should have been a 3 hour tour ("a 3 hour tour")
project of framing in the music room windows:
turned into a 3 week project. My bad.
I did this the same way as my living room windows. Fluting and some choice molding. It should have been done long ago.
And finally, a new little project I'm starting on, like, now.
Now, I know what you're thinking, homeslice.
"Where can I get an awesomely weathered, totally dirty, 30 year old, slivers ev.er.y.where. doorknob-less french door chopped down the middle?"
Life just isn't fair.
But I'm thinking with a good scrub down, a date with Mr. Sander, some of this ticking stripe fabric,
a new door knob, some tweezers, a tub of tapioca pudding, and a giant bag of pork rind's, and this could be totally, awesomely,
Now where's the freakin' gorilla glue?