Makes a Mama Proud

While I couldn't get the whole thing to scan, the important part is there.  Boy, I'm glad he didn't think to put "My mama wants to sleep all the time."

Hats--Not Just for the Kentucky Derby

This Easter, I was sorely disappointed by the lack of Easter hats at the church service I attended.  Didn't there used to be an Easter hat tradition?

Unfortuantely, this wanton disregard for head coverings made of shiny, wicker-like material appears to transcend religious factions.  I asked a friend of mine if she saw any Easter hats at her church; and she, sadly, had not.  Not a single one.

Now, some of you may say this rant is woefully hypocritical because my head was bare as well--but, in my defense, I didn't have any feathers or fake flowers on hand with which to decorate my baseball cap.  I'm also under the age of 60. 

I had thought I could depend on those mature, fashionable women who have the confidence to flaunt an oversized, gaudy hat in style.  Where have they gone?  Where, I ask you?!

So I'm making a New Year's resolution.  (Yes, in April.)  I'm on a mission to bring back the institiution of the Easter hat.  Something tasteful will do.  Something along the lines of this perhaps.

(Pink has always been my color.)

With a little luck (and a few hot glue guns), I predict a future of Easter happiness: 

May we all be as happy in our hats!

Thank Goodness for Instructions!

McDonald's Green Lantern Glasses

Inappropriate Play:

 Particularly Inappropriate Play (Not Intended for Children Under the Age of 3):

Appropriate Play:

 

Thank goodness for that instruction sheet!

Serenity Now

 BEFORE

 AFTER

My wonderfully patient sister/therapist came over yesterday and tried to help me begin the process of cleaning up my workshop.  It's taken on a life of its own and spawned countless piles where scary spiders can lie in wait for me. 

Basically, her job entailed actually sorting things and moving them around while I sighed.  Then she'd tell me it was alright.  Or to just throw it out.  Or that it really would be okay.  You get the idea.

So here's the problem:  I feel like the Before picture doesn't look dramatically different than the After picture.  (Sidenote:  This is in no way a reflection on her near-heroic efforts and saint-like patience.)  I know it truly is better because I saw her take boxes out to car and I can see the air hockey table and I can get to the all-important drill press without high-stepping over something.  But there's a lot of work left.

Why must my creative genius result in such inevitable, unbridled chaos?

And why can't we all learn to be so relaxed in the midst of utter disorganization?

(No, I will not be taking this opportunity to also address the laundry issue that has vomited all over my bed.  My advice:  Look away.  Just look away.)

Danger! Danger!

Our house has been under quarantine.  Last week, my little assistant contracted a cold, which he, in turn, shared with the 3-month-old baby, who was quickly diagnosed with RSV.  Then Jedi-9 went down, and through my certain ingestion of baby snot, I have also succombed.  I have a crackly cough and endless drainage.  My husband is currently teetering on the edge and chugging Airborne fizzy drinks like I chug Coke.  Only rail-thin Jedi-8 has remained unscathed.  Either his immunity system is near-invincible, or he just really never spends time with any of us.

(If we could figure out a way to harvest snot and turn a profit on it, we'd be millionaires.  Millionaires, I tell you!)

Meanwhile, I'm living in a pit of chaos and accomplishing exactly nothing.  Day in and day out.

Life is grand.

Distractions Abound

Just when I think I'm getting close to finishing something, little Jedi-0 clamours for attention.

He better be thankful he's so cute.

Warmth in a Snow-Covered World

Maybe it's cold outside.  Maybe the first legitimate snowfall of the season has slushified your driveway.  Maybe you lost your gloves sometime last winter and your frozen fingers are suddenly angry about it.

But . . . [dramatic pause]

. . . None of that matters anymore.  Not since that small drop of sunlight lit up the face of your newest robot friend, dangling from the rearview mirror. 

His jaunty little legs and round belly are ready to break into an unihibited dance, perfectly in tune with you as you shift into reverse.  It's as if the bitterly cold, soggy world has faded to black, and the spotlight of robotic joy has illuminated your entire day.

Aren't you glad you added a little robot bling to your car?

http://www.etsy.com/listing/92926500/a-little-steampunk-robot-bling-for-your

Made entirely from watch/clock parts.