Confessions

I've been in such a weird spot lately. The majority of the time I feel like I'm failing at all things parenting (and multiple people have shared their observations of the - we will charitably say rebellious - behavior of our kids when I'm the only parent with them so there is some truth to it!), but then there are unprompted times like this:

that make me think, "Okay, maybe I'm only failing half the time rather than the majority." 

;)

We aren't sure where we will be come June so I'm at this limbo point - do I buy another organizer for my shop? Or do I just put the overflow in cardboard boxes because do I want to buy something only for two months? Basically, I'm not even a planner, but at the same time, it's frustrating to not be able to plan. Riddle me that! 

Anyway, I promised myself I would blog today - so tonight I'm feeling like laughing with/at myself with some confessions. You are cordially invited to laugh along with me!

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My blog was down for a month or two last fall because I hadn't updated my payment information, and it just expired. Ask me about my library fines sometime.

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We have had the same number of vacuums and kids in our marriage of almost six years. I take the blame for most of the problems, but I will point out that the second one had a fork sticking through the side of the hose. That wasn't me. Anyway, our third vacuum was so abused that we finally took it to get serviced. When Chris picked it up from the store, the repairman gently asked, "I don't mean this to be offensive, but ... does your wife have really, really long hair?"

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During the Christmas rush, Chris ran out solo to run some errands for me while I stayed at home with the kids, and he stopped into a shop that I visit often, normally with everyone in tow. When one of the employees asked Chris what the name the order would be under, he answered, "Katrina like the hurricane," and the other employee deadpanned, "Your kids are a hurricane." 

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My temperament is phlegmatic melancholic.  My melancholic side really only comes out when I am making art. My dominant phlegmatic side means that I have this gift of being able to ignore things that are not just so.  I hung these frames in a gallery wall above our bed, and that was quite a feat ... last February. One year + one month later, they haven't been filled completely other than brown chipboard covering some artwork that was oriented incorrectly. 

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Being phlegmatic also means that it's natural for me to drag my feet to start something, but once I start, I don't want to stop until it is finished probably because I know it's a big endeavor for me to restart. 

Last summer, I bought some wooden shelves and brackets at a friend's yard sale. I had visions of perfectly styled white shelves with copper brackets on our patchy walls. The project was finally spurred into action a couple days before some of Chris' extended family with impeccable taste visited. For some reason, the fact that spray painting shelves wasn't the most efficient and smooth way to paint them never crossed my mind, and I was out in the early mornings and at night adding another coat for a couple of days, ignoring the recommended drying period. Somehow, I completed all the spray painting before anyone arrived. 

But I never hung them. 

They sat on our floor and against the wall for four months. 

And then I donated them rather than go through the marital stress of hanging perfectly level shelves that would only adorn our walls for a few months anyway. 

This is me.