Tuesday, January 03, 2017

On This Day: 1-3-2017

Tomorrow, real life starts again for us all.

I've been living in a bubble.

A warmish weather, no deadlines, holiday-fueled bubble. These first few days of the new year have been spent in glorious manner, sleeping in and eating when we're hungry and kids playing outside and crafting and projects and more. It's not a bad way to ease into the new year.

The kids, fueled still by their summer binge of Stranger Things have collaborated with their neighborhood friends to explore the nearby woods (winter=fewer bugs and itchy plants) and build their fort. As an overprotective mom, I've had to step back and remind myself how much I loved doing the same when I was a kid. They would leave after lunch after sleeping in and head out to the woods until dark, which granted is only 5 or so, but still. My 12 year old self wishes she could run out and join them.

I've been practicing my battle cry to be bullshit-free in 2017 with the user manual that inspired it—Gary John Bishop's Unf*ck Yourself on my Kindle. I've been waking up, reading a chapter and setting my goals accordingly. I finished a few projects, purged a few unnecessary items and went for a run. More walk than run, but if 2016 was the year I gave up running, 2017 will be the year I get it back.

I also spent the better part of an afternoon rebuilding the glorious ball wreath that adorned my front door for a short few weeks prior to Christmas. I used up all my high-temp glue sticks and was able to salvage 99% of the original balls, augmenting them with a pack I picked up on clearance just before Christmas. Satisfied with the finished, refurbished product, I carried it to my office to hang on the door so I could get a proper look at it and until I could get more glue to fill in any more gaps. Of course, when I did so, the hanger on the back of the wreath came loose and I dropped it and it broke. Again. Expletives flew like sparkly balls across my floor. That wreath was maybe not meant to be.

On a family outing yesterday, we perused the post-holiday clearance aisles. "Ooh, look," I said, "Christmas balls on sale!" I was drawn to them, imagining how pretty they would look in my wreath.

"Yeah, we should bring them home and throw them on the floor."

Touche, kid. I'm going back to my bubble.


  1. I love that your kids are the smart asses you've raised them to be.

  2. Oh Mari. I'm so sorry about your wreath, but it's so very funny for all of us.