If You Give a Mom a DustCloth

If you give a mom a dustcloth, she's going to want to dust.
She'll start dusting. She'll dust the whole house.
While she's dusting she'll notice that it would make more sense to hang the coats on the coat hooks by the back door.
She'll grab the coats and move them. When she gets them there, she'll notice that the hooks are too low and need to be moved up. To move the hooks she'll need a drill. She'll get the drill that her wonderful husband gave her for her very own.
While she's getting the drill, she'll notice that the craft room needs to be cleaned, so she'll start cleaning. She'll put away all the projects that aren't done yet. When she opens the cabinet to put the projects away, she'll see the glass she left there last time she was crafting. It's her favorite glass, and it needs to be cleaned, so she'll take it upstairs to the dishwasher.
When she opens the dishwasher, she'll notice that she already ran it today, so she'll put away the clean dishes. When she opens the cabinet to put away the glasses, she'll notice that they don't all fit at once, and needs to be rearranged. So she'll start rearranging, and soon the contents of every cabinet in the kitchen is on the countertops.
When she sees the empty cabinets, she'll notice that they need to be washed down. So she'll go downstairs for a cleaning rag. When she gets downstairs she'll remember that she was going to clean the craft room.
So she'll go upstairs to get the vacuum. When she gets to the closet to get the vacuum, she'll remember that she was going to move the coats to the coat hooks by the back door, and that she needs the drill to do that. When she goes to get the drill, she'll see the dustcloth, and if she sees the dust cloth, she'll want to dust...
When her dear husband gets home, the house is a mess, he can't find anything, dinner isn't ready, and she's rearranged again!
(This post is for my children and husband, who wonder why the flying farts I feel the need to rearrange every thing every single day, with thanks and apologies to Laura Joffe Numeroff for my unabashed use of her style of writing in the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" series. )
(Thankfully, I don't have my particular form of ADHD kick in every day, and most days aren't like this!)

I'll Be Seeing You in all The Old Familiar Places...

We live in a small-ish town near Chicago. How small? I recently took my neighbor some tomatoes from my garden, watched as he took a bite, then casually asked me who I was. (OK, so we don't spend a lot of time with our neighbors. In my defense, I work 12 hour days on a regular basis. But you're missing the point!)
We used to live much closer to the 'big city', but moved here because of housing prices. The big deal for the entire first year was the fact that everyone we met knew we were new here. My children, born and raised in the 'big city', couldn't get used to the fact that everyone we passed said hello.
But eventually they, and we, did get used to it. So used to it, that recently when I gained a client for my home business, it was absolutely no surprise to us that the client had a sister who worked for the doctor who treated my daughter for her broken ankle, and that she learned of us through another client who temped for said doctor when said sister took a maternity leave. (And if you don't understand that, just imagine what my daily life is like! ) And that my daughter's boyfriend saw the children who come to daycare here when he was in the emergency room recently, and introduced himself with the usual two degrees of seperation that exists here in our small town.
I am most definately not a small town girl. Give me a mall and a highway anyday. But, here? I don't know why, but I love it. Maybe it's my age. I'm not 20 anymore. ( 29, um kay?) And the thought of anonymity isn't so attractive anymore. But I still love the thought of sort of knowing my neighbors, and having room for a garden and a patio, and maybe saying hey to the cashier at the only grocery in town.
But it is still seriously cool to live close enough to 'The City' to go shopping when I want, while being able to take garden produce to a neighbor.

Signs I Might Be Getting Older

1. I saw a woman at the store, about my age, pull into the first spot, which was a handicapped spot. I was jealous.(Don't worry, I'm still very grateful for my health. It's just that I worked all day before I went to the store, and it was hot, and well...whatever.)
2. I carry pictures of my dogs in my wallet. Whenever my friends pull out pictures of their grandkids, I pull out the pictures of my dogs. They are sooo cauuute!
3. I have friends my age with grandkids.
4. I wear short sleeves year round, and sometimes they're too hot!
5. My idea of the perfect Friday night is delivered pizza, half a glass of wine, and a ten hour nap.
6. My idea of a wild Friday night is two glasses of wine and a twelve hour nap.
7. I like pot pies. When did that happen?!
8. I have no patience whatsoever with people who disagree with my political viewpoint. I won't try to win you over, I don't care to discuss it, I just know I'm right.
9. I'm beginning to wonder what, exactly, I can afford to hire out. Dishes? Cooking? Grocery shopping? Breathing?
10. I don't really care what anyone thinks about what I think or do. Don't like it? Too bad. I do.
Of course, all of this could just be in my mind, because it's August, and it's h.o.t., and it's so close to fall I can almost smell it, and it would really really really be nice if I could turn off the air conditioner for one flipping day and open a window, for goodness sake, because I might as well not even have a back yard it's so redonkulously hot outside. But I guess we'll see in a few weeks!

Me, one. Lingerie gods, zero.

Well, it's been awhile since I posted. Sorry about that, but life-you know. It took me three tries to remember my password so I could make a new post. Would've been one, but apparantly I typed it in wrong the first time.
So anyhow, I went bra shopping last night. A manufacturer whose bras I like has a new product out, and they were on sale, so off to the lingerie department off the local department store I went. I was fully prepared, from pre-sale advertising, to buy one of these sight unseen. Being the wise consumer that I am, I refrained from that particular folly until I could drag one of those bad girls to the dressing room and see how it worked in real life.
Now, the draw of this particular bra is that it is supposed to adjust to your size when you put it on, hence forgoing the need for the normal sizing, and just going with small to extra large. Yeah. Not. So. Much. Can you say, " Good Idea, Poor Execution!" ?
Of the four types of self-adjusting bras I tried on, only one offered any support what-so-ever. The other three were just sort of glorified elastic bandages. Which is fine if you're nineteen, or have never breast fed a child, or can afford plastic surgery. None of those apply to me, however.
But I kept looking and eventually found a product I did like. After that humiliation in the dressing room, I almost left right away, but passed through the clothing department on my way to the door. Hello. Is that a 70 percent off sign I see? Trying on clothing after trying on lingerie is like escaping Freddy Krueger to throw yourself into the arms of Jason, but it just so happened that the first pair of jeans I looked at was on clearance for ten dollars. Ten bucks!! For name brand jeans!!
Of course I had to try on a pair, and apparently God felt sorry for me or something, because I bought a pair that's a size smaller than what I normally wear, and they look awesome on me! Some days every thing goes right, but most not. That one worked out ok.
And the sun went down on that day with me sitting in the back yard, in my newly built black-walnut-tree-sitting-nook, with my darling husband, and my dear daughter, sipping cold soda, and watching the bats catch bugs overhead. It was sort of peaceful, and a great end to the day.