Kitchen Sink Saturday

So I woke up this morning and literally catapulted out of bed, as though the coffee I was planning to consume in an hour or so was already coursing through my veins due to some sort of space/time paradox occurring, and after shooting into my clothing, I raced away in the car to gather donuts and Starbucks sandwiches because it’s Saturday and that’s what Saturday means if you look it up, and now I’m sitting here with actual coffee charging through my veins along with a glazed donut and I think some sort of cardiac explosion is in my near future.

“I’m Walking On Sunshine” was playing on the radio, and I cranked it up, even though it looks like this outside and is very NOT like walking on sunshine.


The above photo was taken at my parents’ house, where I spent the last couple of days having a wee little bit of a getaway with my five eldest girls. We talked and shopped and looked at old photographs and had a good time, in spite of the non-walking-on-sunshine weather.

It’s not that there isn’t beauty in gloom. Just that you have to look a little harder to find it. For example:






(all photos my own ‘cept for the last one…that’s Rose’s)

Not to mention we had this divine creature with us…


The little bugger is 10 months old now. Who gave him permission?

We went to my favorite bookstore…


and bought a few things…


and went to lunch…






at the sandwich shops, the walls were lined with superhero posters…



my hero(ine)


This is Martian Manhunter. It occurred to me that I had seen him somewhere before. And then I realized.

ed harris

I now know Martian Manhunter’s alter ego: it’s Ed Harris!

Speaking of superheroes, here’s a picture of my sister and me.


Haha! We’re not really superheroes. That I know of.

My sister doesn’t read my blog. No matter how hard I try to get her to. But I still love her. I guess.

No, really! I do. I do love her. Even though she gave me a black eye once.


So what I’m trying to say is, we had a good couple of days. Today is greyer than ever before and we have another (UH. NUH. THER.) winter storm warning in the works for tomorrow, and I’d cry if it wasn’t for the walking-on-sunshine song still vibrating my brain stem.

Also, these pictures make me happy.





Postponing yet another winter mental meltdown: check.

My Mother Always Said…

“Only boring people get bored.”

That’s what she used to tell me. Whining to her in the middle of summer or during school breaks for the holidays like the spoiled rotten brat that I was, I would slink off to my room after she said it, pouting that my own mother called me boring. Assembling my ten million stuffed animals, I would call the meeting to order and inquire as to what grand adventure we should have together.

They would stare at me, glassy-eyed, silent…unhelpful. I knew they participated in all sorts of hair-raising schemes behind my back, but were they going to confess to their devoted, doting person? Not a chance. Screw them. I retreated to my closet to check if it had transformed into a portal to Narnia instead. Nope. Still just a wall of sheetrock.

My mother would also offer to let me fold laundry, or dust, or put away dishes, if I complained too frequently, or too long. What I really wanted was a flying unicorn. Or a rainbow I could climb to visit the cloud men of Roald Dahl’s imagination. I WANTED AN ADVENTURE, BY GOLLY.

When my own children get bored, I say “Revel in it! Enjoy it! Do you know how many people in the world would LOVE to know how it feels to be bored? It’s a luxury!! You could be working in a sweatshop or a coal mine! You could be digging potatoes until your fingernails fall off, you could be…(etc)”

I’m much more long-winded than my mother.

I am also the world’s biggest hypocrite. Because,

Right now? 




The most exciting thing that happened to me today was that my baby boy pooped Stonehenge. It is, at this moment, sitting in the bottom of the toilet bowl, slowly eroding since it refuses to flush. I should start a betting pool amongst my children to see who estimates its time-to-flushability to the closest minute. 

The sameness of my days is killing me. Am I alone? Or am I just the only one brave enough to say it? I mean, come on, it’s an unwritten rule that Christians (especially) are not supposed to complain of boredom. We are supposed to savor every moment in an attitude of thankfulness for our every breath. I know this. I’m not stupid. It’s pretty much sinful to pout over the lack of portals to other dimensions where every episode moment is a new thrill.

And so I’ll make my own excitement. I will rise above the boredom that is trying to claim me. I AM NOT A BORING PERSON, BY JINGO! I AM A CLEVER AND CREATIVE SOUL!

I will go and see if I can flush the toilet yet.

And maybe burn something down.