Furniture

I find it amazing how quickly things become furniture in my house.  I don't mean real furniture, but figuratively.  Those things that are so constant and unchanging that they are as familiar and certain as your couch sitting in the middle of your living room floor, or your bed in the master bedroom.  You know when you walk through your front door that they are going to be there for you barring some disaster.  I know, I have boys and that disaster could come on any day, but you get my drift. On most days you don't have to worry about sitting or sleeping on the floor.  You have furniture.  


In my house, other things quickly become furniture.  Other people may have things that become "fixtures," like the neighbor's cat that keeps sneaking in when your wild boys leave the door open, or the Wii balance board in front of the entertainment center, or the toothpaste splatters on the bathroom mirror.  We have those too -- but we also have furniture -- things that have become so certain, you can rely on them when in need.  


First of all, there's the sofa cushions, they aren't just a means to an end, they are the end.  They can be dislodged from the couch and scattered about to be roads, cliffs, hideouts, tents, bad-guy caves.  they are furniture in and of themselves.


Toy containers - not just for storing anymore.  They are the perfect step stool for vertically challenged three-year-olds.  Can't reach the stick mom put away on top of the mantle because I turned it into a gun and shot my baby sister repeatedly and then poked her for good measure? no problem, I have furniture for that.  I can go to my room, dump all of my pirate stuff out of its container and .... instant step stool!


Finally there's the laundry basket.  This is a special case.  I confess I have a problem keeping up with laundry.  It owns me.  I can never keep up.  I feel like I spend hours each day, but it's never enough.  Inevitably, at the end of each day, I have a basket full of unfolded, or folded clothes at the foot of my bed in the laundry basket.  I really hadn't taken the time to think about how often this takes place.  But apparently, it has occurred so much, that it is officially furniture.  It has become so certain it can be relied on when in need.... of a nap:


Where's Wild Man J?

Uh, I don't know - let's check all of the FURNITURE...

precious baby..... can you fold that stuff when you wake up?

My Little Life Coaches

I've always found life coaches a little annoying.  How do I know so much about them?  No, I've never been "coached" personally, but there have been some examples out there for us in the best form of education known to man -- reality tv.  Come on, isn't it the best information out there?  I've learned quite a bit over the last 10 years from reality tv.  1) how to back-stab  and then back stab again, and then once more -- and it's all OK to keep that tiki torch burning--Survivor is only a game right?  2) Feathers and human hair make perfectly respectable couture - thanks Project Runway for that tid bit  3) There is a technique to table tossing.  only the best tossers can toss without breaking a nail or harming a curl, all while cursing like a sailor, of course -- this info compliments of Real Housewives of NJ.  4) the best way to lose weight is to get someone to make you cry.  Thanks Jillian.  


You see, Jillian from the Biggest Loser is not just a fitness trainer, she is also a life coach.  I suppose she's just the person for the job, because I'm pretty sure anyone who weighs 450 lbs could use some training and coaching.  I do, however, get a kick out of watching this life coach work (and any other one I have ever seen).  I have boiled their job description down to pushing and pushing and screaming at the top of their lungs "WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF?!?" until said subject breaks, cries and confesses some deep hidden anxiety or traumatic experience.  I have also decided that sometimes I bet that traumatic experience is completely fabricated just to get a break from the "coaching."  Kinda like those cooerced confessions in dark, smoky back rooms of police headquarters.  "Yes it was me, in the library with the candlestick.  Please, Please get me out of here!!!"


All of this to say, I don't need to drive down to Decatur or Little Five Points to find a hippie life coach to push and push and push...  Nope not me.  I have two little life coaches that sleep in our middle bedroom every night.  Their style is perfect.  It's that delicate balance of observation, brutal honestly and total lack of tact that make them so successful.


Wild Man J used to be the king of the "pushing."  My favorite used to be when as a small toddler he would constantly poke and prod my arm fat and love handles.  so sweet of him to make me aware.... Then Sweet G pulled up from behind when he asked me why the skin on my leg always jiggled.  Thanks for that observation, son.


They have really left me alone for a while.  I guess they gave me a break while growing and birthing another human being, but my sabbatical is over.  They apparently conspired to do a double attack last night.  


J:  "Momma, you have a baby in your bellly."
Me: "No I don't son"
G: "No she doesn't - It just takes a long time for your belly to go down after having a baby"


Would have been sorta nice if he would have stopped there.  nope - not Sweet G...


"Cause your belly got soooo big,  and it takes a long time, a really REALLY long time for it to go back down."


I left the room before they broke me.  No crying last night.  They need some lessons from Jillian.  too bad their bedtime is 7:30.

I'm Obviously Not Good at Blogging

I'm obviously not that good at blogging.  Well, I think I'm at least a pretty decent writer, I just stink at doing this on a regular basis.  I really don't know why that is.  I constantly think to myself.  "Now THAT is blogworthy."  but the thought or story or picture just never hardly makes it to the screen.  


I'm really sad to admit my failure as a good blogger.  I had high hopes really, but 4 blogs in a year really won't put me up there with The Pioneer Woman or Homemade by Jill or For the Joy of Food.  A girl can dream though.  I had a dream of a REAL page with more than 2 hits a day with advertising links and cute little tabs and a cookbook and a tour and lots of cute babies wanting pictures with me...  OK, not really, but I did want to at least be able to say "I have a blog" with out feeling like a little half liar.  


But in my life I have learned to settle with being a dabbler.  It's really what I am best at.  and I really feel that living a life dabbling in lots of different things, is better than devoting all of my energy into one thing and not getting to even try all of the other things.  And I have also learned as I dabble, that if I dabble in those things really well, making those moments worth while, then I don't get burnt out. I keep enjoying them.  


So I love my dabblings:  blogging, sewing, singing, cooking, painting, designing.  I also love the fact that because I am a dabbler and not an obsesser (have I said that I love making up words?)  I have room for my real passion - being a good Momma and friend.  So I love my friends and family hard and dabble in a lot of things a little bit and probably should do more than dabbling in cleaning and organizing and exercising for that matter, but I do love my life, and am thankful for all of my outlets... even my pitiful little blog.