So I haven't posted in a week and a half. I know. You try raising 3 kids during the Christmas season and keeping up on laundry while you remodel your basement at the same time and then let me know how much time you have for blogging.
Seriously though, in all factual honesty, the basement has little to do with my life right now. Except for the pile of paint samples
The phase of work we're on right now with our basement has been hired out to a professional. Judging by the "technique" my husband, Mr. Roofer, naturally has for mudding and taping, our drywall would've ended up looking like something between stucco and a earth quake survival test. So, we changed our budget to accommodate a more professional wall finish and skipped the kitchen remodel altogether. For now.
And that's fine with me actually because the kitchen was supposed to be remodeled a year ago so if I can wait all this time and still be content, who cares if it's another 10 years before the kitchen gets a little extra counter space? If we can have a basement finished in the meantime, I'll take that offer gladly, Mr. Roofer. Anything is better than nothing.
Oh, and not to expound on all the exciting details of my life, Mr. Drywall-guy guarantees that he'll have the mudding and taping and sanding done in four days. That's FOUR literal, 24 hour days. I seriously can NOT believe that.
Mr. Drywall assured me he was not that impressive. He said that if he tried roofing his house, it would take a whole year. I know a Mr. Roofer who could probably get it done in a day. So yeah. Mr. Drywall really isn't as good as I thought in the first place... or so I say in order to not become delusional into thinking that he must work magic in order to complete a drywall job in 4 days.
Honestly folks, do you know how long Mr. Roofer would've ended up taking drywalling our basement because his method is so much more lengthy? Yeah. We won't even go there right now.
Not to change topics or anything but since a mighty eighteen-month-old is playing catch with me and seeming to soundly hit my computer with everything he tosses at me, I'm going to have to rapidly move on to other topics in order to actually finish this post tonight before my computer screen becomes punctured by flying objects being hurled in the air by a fat baby and then my computer will have to go back to Best Buy where the Geek Squad will take 3 months in order to finally write on our repair list that the screen on this computer was punctured but is now fixed.
They say honesty is the best policy so I'm shooting for the best policy right now and going to be blunt and straight to the point: I have not felt like blogging. at. all. How's that for an excuse?
Let's just say that nothing in my life or brain have been conducive for a mentally sound blog post. I am not a mental person
And if I had blogged, it would've been chaotic too. Kinda like the football that keeps hitting my arm as I type right now. (It's that eighteen-month-old harassing me again.)
So, as I focus on the Christmas season and the reality that my offspring have woken up to the wonders this season brings, I am reminded at the brevity of life. (And a small plastic plate is hurled up at the computer while I try to re-live the Christmas spirit. I love that eighteen-month old.)
To think that for only a few more short years, my kids will understand Christmas the way they do now. The wonder of a baby born in a barn. The irony that angels came to earth. The mystery of the wise men riding "wumps" to see the baby Jesus. (Thank you Dr. Suess for permanently altering my child's ability to recognize a camel.)
As I hurl the football into the other room in order to give me a few lines of peace and quiet while that eighteen-month-old runs for the ball, I am gathering my thoughts quickly in order to remember where my train of thought was originally headed.
Bummer. The football wasn't as interesting as the foam dry eraser he has now decided to entertain my life with. The bad thing about that is no matter how hard I throw this little piece of foam, it doesn't go nearly as far as that football did. So basically, he picks it up and throws it back and pants and squeals in anticipation for me to throw it back to him.
Before I put my arm out of socket from
So, I avoid that tiny cubicle like the plague since it tends to cause
Maybe I am mental?