morbid and more bits

Let's just soldier on this Terrible Topic of Bad, shall we? I mean, we've already got Monday under our belt, so what's so awful about carrying it in to Tuesday. Right?

So then. Today let's talk about Bad Behavior. When I am stressed, I can get a little... let's use the word "crazy" and not quibble about the details. I've never been big about hiding my eccentricities here at The Creamery, so I urge you to do the same.

In case you need help:
- I felt so flip-flapping OVER THE TOP with the pressure on Saturday afternoon that I sat down on the kitchen floor and proceeded to clean out an entire kitchen cabinet. It was not on my To Do list.

- Objects over the weekend I allowed Bean to fiddle with because I was just So! Happy! that she was doing something other than hanging onto my leg: several fridge magnets, too many pens to count, a bouquet of star-shaped suckers, Chip's shoes, my shoes, Phoebe's tail (which--- it's not like she pulled it off the cat or anything, but she just sort of decided to follow Phoebe around aimlessly for nearly ten minutes, clinging to P's tail with the Toddler Kung Fu Grip of Death), a pile of Chip's business cards, my cell phone, a cube of butter (paper still wrapped around it).

- I cried at least six times between Friday to Sunday. None of the instances were triggered by meaningful things. More like the time Bean threw some chicken nuggets on the floor and when Chip fell asleep instead of giving me the arm rub that he had promised earlier.


Lay it on out there for me, my friends. Tell me something NUTS you've done in the face of pressure.

And then

Hello. Whimsy isn't here right now. She is busy dealing with a freakish and totally inopportune bout of Bean Stomach Flu.

Say it with me: AWESOME.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

a nice reviewerly picture of the whimsy household

Can we talk? I am personally not much of a fan of the I'm So Busy I Want to Die blog posts. Mostly because they're boring. And also a little counter intuitive (if you're really so busy, why the heck are you WRITING A BLOG ENTRY ABOUT IT when you could be, you know, actually getting stuff done?).

But. I'm calling this exception because.... B-U-S-Y. When I left my parents' to head home, I had this buzzing creepy-crawly feeling of impending doom about the coming few days. I got home and tried to do as much as I could, but being the sole parent-figure at the time, a lot of my bandwidth was spent doing the Daily Required Bean Tasks. So as soon as Chip came home on Thursday night, we sat down and stratagized about the days to come--- what needed to be done, when we were going to do it, and who was going to be doing each thing. Which lead us to this past weekend: three days of constant pushing. I have several work-related deadlines along with personal things that HAVE to get done not to mention the Etsy shop I'm frantically trying to get up and running.

It's enough to make a normal person lose their cool. And I'm not a normal person. I am a freak about scheduling and planning and making lists. On top of the deadlines, we had several commitments we also had to meet: our church Christmas breakfast on Saturday morning, a Christmas concert that Chip was performing in with a friend on Saturday night, church stuff to get done before Sunday morning. And have I mentioned that Chip is leaving bright and early on Monday morning for his company's week-long annual conference? Yes. And so.

Now this is your time to wonder why the heck Whimsy is bothering to write this all down, to post it. Why tell you that she's BUSY?

Well... I feel like this kind of insanity usually leads me into one of two places: either I feel energized and compelled to exceed my own expectations OR I find myself sputtering into a frenzied spiral of ineffectual dithering. So far, my needle is pointing to the very ugly ineffectual dithering. What I want to know from you guys is this: what do you do when you're faced with So! Much! To! Do! that you don't even know where to start? I'm in the market for some solid ideas, dudes. Whatcha got? (I wouldn't be opposed to Toddler Activity Ideas, either, because let's face it-- I'm on my own all this week and the To Do list isn't any shorter but that doesn't deter the Bean from asking me to pick her up and play with her every couple of minutes. OH! And one more thing! Our DVR is broken and we have lost every single life-saving episode of Sesame Street and it looks like we're not going to get a replacement DVR until late in the week. Essentially, what I'm telling you here, is that I've got all the ingredients -PLUS EXTRA FLAVORFUL BITS- for the Suckage Trifecta. KILL ME NOW.)

(Also, I wouldn't be opposed to some nice sympathy. I mean, if we're really being honest with each other--- I feel terrible and I desperately want to get in front of the train and past it instead of having it flatten me to some kind of awful bloody pulp.)

To review:
Whimsy BUSY.
Chip MIA.
Bean BORED.
Dvr BROKEN.
Whimsy WANTS TO CRY.
You HAVE A MILLION IDEAS THAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO POST TO SAVE WHIMSY'S BACON.

That is all.

on coming home

What makes it home? Is it the coats hanging in the closet or the cat dishes waiting to be filled? Is it the way the sofa smells like leather and your husband's shampoo or the pile of your daughter's toys sitting in the living room?

What makes a home, a home? Is it the tears you've poured into the pillows or the drips of apple pie on the oven floor? Is it the echo of laughter from the last time you tried to sing Happy Birthday a couple of octaves too high or the sunlight falling through the window at 4 o'clock?

What makes home so very homey? Is it lamplight and firelight and candlelight all at once? Is it the leaves collecting against the backyard fence? Is it maple syrup and waffles and that horrible chili that your husband insisted on making two weeks ago? Is it an overstuffed refrigerator or an empty recycling bin? Is it the grocery list hanging from the doorknob so you won't forget it (even though you will, you always do)?

Home. What is it? Is it a building? A feeling? A collection of memories?

Is home a place? An ideal? A myth?

Being home. I know it, when I'm there. It's you. It's me. It's us inside these walls that we've made our own.

tis the... season?

I can't decide if it's something in the air, the water, or the season, but there are some weird things afoot. I got back yesterday late afternoon. I have some posts planned. REAL posts. But as I said, there are some strange things that are troubling me.

Namely:

- Can anyone explain to me how (OR WHY) the makers of this gem think that Everything Old is New Again? Or why it's supposed to make such a stellar Christmas gift? (I had one once. The ORIGINAL. I think I grew it for a while until it seemed gross and so I scraped off the plant-y bits and just had the little clay sheep-like animal sitting on my kitchen counter for months and months. I considered gluing beads or jewels on it, but I didn't. Eventually Phoebe knocked it off the counter and so it met its sad bitter end.) Incidentally, they now have a Chia Obama head. Really.


- Something ELSE that is attempting to make a holiday come back. Huh.


- Why oh why am I TEMPTED to get this? IT HAS A REMOTE CONTROL! A CONTROL THAT GOES THROUGH WALLS AND WINDOWS!