My thoughts are bouncy right now. I'm sitting at the computer at 12:27am and I'm reading various items while I listen to the washer and the dryer do their thing. I can't type fast enough. I'm having thoughts again. Thoughts that I want to share. Thoughts that I want to scribble out with my swirly handwriting. But I'll type instead.
Does anyone even read this anymore? I feel like I've forgotten how to blog.
When I die I want to be buried in a pine box. Like, a homemade one. I don't want thousands of dollars spent on my coffin. Just a simple pine box. Or cremation. That's ok with me.
I dislike cooking bacon. Do you know why? Because I can't stand my house to smell like bacon. And I can't stand my hair to smell like bacon. And let's not forget my clothes. I don't like my clothes to smell like bacon. Bacon tastes good. But the smell clings like the dickens.
I have a smell thing. I can't stand my hands to smell like food, unless it's cilantro. I love cilantro.
Today I put on my blue shirt. I love the color of this shirt.
Later I figured out that I wore this shirt last Friday. I had gone to the mall and tried a tester of perfume at The Gap. Guess what? I want that perfume. Bad.
I am not good at mailing things. Just so you know.
Sometimes I want to die when people come to my house. I get so self conscious about every imperfection. If ever anyone goes into my basement, I always ask them before they go down if they will still be my friend if they see how messy and crazy my basement is. Silly? Yes. And there's some sarcasm in the question... but mostly it's a valid fear.
My aim is to have a yard sale on Saturday. I'm excited and anxious about it.
I don't like planning birthday parties for my kids. The hardest part for me is getting out the invitations. I'm really not very good at this facet of parenthood. But that's ok with me. I'm good at the ones that are more important, I think.
I love doing laundry. Don't let me fool you if ever I'm complaining about it. It's very possible that it's my favorite household chore.
I'm trying some generic diapers tonight. Keep your fingers crossed for me and Miss B.
Speaking of Miss B, baby Brynja is precious. She laughed last Thursday and Friday nights. I told Mac about it when she did it the first time and he went on and on about how he just couldn't believe it. How she's growing up so fast. His face showed every emotion and he said, "That just makes me want to cry!" and I could see the tears just under the surface. What a sweet, tender boy. How many almost-ten-year-olds would be so thrilled and emotional about their baby sister laughing for the first time?
I love my life and my bouncy late-night thoughts.