Tree Removal…?

Day #10 of 31 Days of Storytelling

My husband came home early yesterday not feeling well.

He just wanted to take a nap.

So I ran some errands and picked up the girls from school so he could sleep.

And the city decided to come and cut down the big maple tree in our front yard.

Not

noisy

at all.

Monte knows me well enough to KNOW
I would need this documented.

Our dog Nigel overseeing the whole process.

It didn't take long at all!

It is their property since it is on the other side of the sidewalk

(even though we have to rake all the leaves each fall).

We lost a big limb from it over the summer during a wind storm.

While we were all outside looking at the big limb blocking the street and our driveway, the city came, removed the limb and sprayed a large red dot on the tree with spray paint.

"It's got to go," the man said all heartless and without emotion.

What?!

I am a tree lover.

Hugger, even.

If you need proof, read this and this.

I don't like seeing mature trees cut down--ever.

I could not survive in a new subdivision with no mature trees!

I really, REALLY relate to the Lorax.

Even though this tree is way, way, WAY older than the almost 14 years that we have been here, it feels  like OUR tree.

I have a sweet memory of one holiday season several years ago when we got a whopper ice storm.

The thick ice snapped a very large limb from the tree, blocking the street.

Monte and I went out to move it and were met by our dear elderly neighbor, Hank

(who passed away a couple years ago). 

We all grabbed a portion of the limb to move it together. In Monte's gusto to lift, he slipped and fell spectacularly since the road was ice covered as well.

Big boom.

Hank gave a pity-filled, "Awww…"

I couldn't stop laughing.

So much so, I almost fell myself.

I looked back at the house and saw my brother-in-law (who was visiting for the holidays) fogging up the window because he was laughing too.

I also remember another time when my dad and Monte were trimming a low hanging branch and it crashed and dented the hood of my car.

*Note:  Move car from under tree next time you trim it.

Not that there will be a next time because IT IS GONE!

Well, kinda gone.

The city sent us a letter saying (in a more official way than a red spray painted dot) that they would remove the tree one day and then the stump another day.

This is what we are left with.

It was a little foggy this morning so there was an
eerie Elephant Graveyard from The Lion King
kinda feel to it. No sign of hyenas…yet.

Looks like there should be a vulture roosting
on top of this "stump".

This is one TALL stump. The city did it to our neighbor's tree too.

It makes me sad every time I look out front.

Or pull into the drive.

And it is downright creepy in the dark.

Especially now that it is October.

I DO HOPE this "stump" becomes a legit stump BEFORE Halloween.

Or we will become the haunted portion of our street.

No She Didn't

Day #9 of 31 Days of Storytelling

Having a 13-year-old girl is a test.

One we can't seem to study enough for.

 And fail often.

Every morning we never know who is going to walk down the stairs for breakfast.

The sweet girl who used to draw me pictures

and dance with me while I cooked dinner 

and let me "sweep" the floor with her hair while I held her upside down.

Don't worry, she loved it.

Or the big pot of steaming crazy that gets stirred up to the point of overflow by a simple,

Good morning! 

This summer she decided that our mere presence in a one-mile radius of her was

just

too 

much.

One hot Saturday in June she made plans to ride her bike to the pool and meet some friends.

We thought that sounded like a great idea and mentioned that we'd see her later when WE got to the pool.

We meaning myself, 

her father and 

her younger sister.

She turned into the big pot of steaming crazy soup and said under no circumstances were we allowed to go to the PUBLIC pool where we all had passes that WE paid for.

No she didn't.
Yes, she did. 

As I watched her bike away, I wondered how my heart could still be worried she'd get run over all the while entertaining the thought of running after her and shoving her to the ground.

See?

Test.

Failed.

I went looking for my husband to discuss what we were going to do since CLEARLY we were unfit parents.

I couldn't find him.

Finally I heard he and Ellie in our sweet neighbor's RV that was now parked in OUR driveway.

They were listening to music.

The pool bag was packed and ready.

Monte informed me that we were indeed STILL going to the pool

 and we were going to drive the RV.

Maniacal laugh.

Maniacal laugh.

Maniacal laugh.

Did you see the Muppet Movie?

This won't make any sense if you haven't.

So, off we went on the very short drive to the pool.

We started honking the horn and wildly waving 

out the window as soon as the pool came into view.

Monte took care to take up as MANY parking spaces as possible in the parking lot so the RV was visible from most of the pool.

We walked into the pool expecting to be ignored as to avoid the humiliation of being associated with the Clampett's who just drove in.

Instead McDaniel and her friends ran to us begging to take a ride.

Dang!

We forgot.

She's one of us.

She loves this kind of off-beat thing.

We didn't swim long. But long enough for a friend to come up to us and complain that 

"some joker" 

did a bad park job with his RV and caused him to have to park far away from the pool.

We spent the afternoon driving McDaniel and her friends around and stopping by friends' houses and letting them walk around the RV.

Her friend in the background on the phone saying,
"I am not even kidding. Right now! Yes! I am
in an RV AS WE SPEAK!"

Okay.

So what we intended to do for evil

God turned into good.

A really, REALLY good day.

He's awesome like that, isn't He?

The One about McDaniel's Almost Basketball Coach

Day #2 of 31 Days of Storytelling.

We live close to a major university. So major that it insists that you refer to it with a THE at the beginning.

No, it's not THE Harvard.

People park on our street to walk to the campus for football games.

A lot of people.

So my daughters have been setting up a lemonade stand since they were little.

My dad made them an awesome one on wheels with an umbrella and everything.

But I digress…

During a typical lemonade stand football Saturday, my oldest daughter, McDaniel, noticed her future basketball coach and boyfriend parking on our street.

Her self-conscious 13-year-old attempts to holler hi

(think barely audible throaty whisper) 

failed.

So she and her sister and a neighbor girl decided to decorate future basketball coach's Jeep while they were at the game.

Complete with We LOVE You Coach poster.

Balloons.

And crepe paper.

In her excitement that she was actually included on something with her big sister, Ellie decided to throw a full roll of crepe paper from one side of the Jeep to the other.

She either misjudged the wind direction (or the power of her throwing arm) because the full roll landed right in the Jeep.

Remember? 

No roof, 

no windows, 

no doors. 

Jeep.

Not wanting to make this fun surprise a crime, they chose not to go in after it.

I'm proud of that fact.

They went inside to wait out the game and watch for the coach's return.

Somehow we all missed it.

The next week at school, McDaniel popped in to her future coach's office.

Did I mention she is McDaniel's gym teacher? 

A letter-giving-on-the-report-card teacher?

The coach said she'd been waiting for McDaniel to stop by. She asked to hear McDaniel's version of the story before she shared her version.

Can anyone else hear the theme to The Godfather?

McDaniel couldn't get an accurate read on if she was about to get into trouble or receive a hearty thank you for the gesture.

So she told her story. 
(see above)

Then Coach told hers.

(see below)

She and her boyfriend left the football game early (I guess that's why we missed them).

From a bit of a distance, they could see "stuff" on their car.

She and her boyfriend wondered if it was for him 

(he's a football coach) 

or her 

(she coaches volleyball and basketball). 

They also considered the possibility that maybe it wasn't "happy" decorations but maybe "unhappy" vandalism. What if they had angered the owners of the house they parked in front of and they let them know it with a meanly worded poster, balloons and crepe paper?

What?!

I know. I am just repeating the story as it was told to me.

When they made it back to the car and saw that the decorations were indeed "happy" and the poster signed by my daughter and her friend, she laughed until she cried.

She was touched. 

Awww…

She hung the poster up when she got home and tore off the decorations. She even called her mom to tell her of the touching expression of love.

Sunday found the coach driving down the highway going normal highway speed. Something caught her eye in the rear view mirror.

A very l-o-n-g something. 

Remember that roll of crepe paper that Ellie mis-tossed?

 It was mis-tossed right under the driver's seat. 

By the time Coach got a good look at the crepe paper tail it was trailing SEVERAL car lengths.

She sped up a bit thinking it would have to tear soon. 

It didn't.

Good to know! I bought it at the dollar store.

Then she began to worry about the police pulling her over for speeding

AND for trailing a mile-long piece of purple crepe paper.

So she pulled herself over.

And tore the seriously strong crepe paper 

and stuck the rest of the role in her glove box.

Then she swore revenge on two girls who happened to see her park on a football Saturday. 

Gulp. 

When are basketball tryouts again?

Movies Revisited

Day #8 of 31 Days of Storytelling


So this weekend we managed to cram viewing Rocky 3 and 4 into a pretty busy weekend.

We have our priorities, I'll have you know.

Rocky 3 is when Rocky fights Mr. T who is actually Clubber Lang in the movie.

We tried to explain Mr. T to my daughters. 

And the television show The A Team. 

Let's just say some things just don't translate generations.

Like when we excitedly sat them down to watch an episode of The Dukes of Hazard.

They asked incessant questions (and quite frankly, ruined it for my husband and I):

"Why is there talking but their lips aren't moving?"

It is called a Narrator.

"Why don't they open their car doors?"

Because that is the coolest thing ever.

"Why are they always being chased?"

Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltrane don't like them.

"Why? Are they bad guys?"

Um, no, well, maybe?

Rocky 3 wasn't the love story that Rocky 1 and 2 were.

And Mickey, Rocky's elderly trainer, died. 

Which just devastated our girls.

And Clubber Lang beat the holy heck out of Rocky.

The first time.

Then Apollo Creed (Rocky's former nemesis) decides to train Rocky in a rematch of Clubber Lang.

It was all about the business of boxing and not love.

And Rocky didn't look the same. 

Before

After

As his drunk brother-in-law, Paulie, said, "You fixed up your face."

 My daughters weren't ooey-gooey for it.

Then we watched Rocky 4--the one with the Russian Drago

"I must break you"

who kills Apollo and Rocky fights to avenge Apollo.

Did I lose you?

Again, not a love story.

But an intense national pride, 

personal pride, 

man vs. machine kinda story.

With a little back story of the Russia/USA hate and fear of nuclear bombing from us, the girls got sucked into the intensity of the movie.

So did we.

The boxing was so intense.

I hid my eyes more than once.

McDaniel wore boxing gloves the entire movie.

At one point, she screamed that Rocky should fight Drago's wife.

She was a bit mouthy.

Ironic side note:  Sylvester Stallone married Brigitte Nielsen, who played Drago's wife, for a brief 2 years.

iPhones are handy.

As Drago was entering the ring to fight Rocky, Ellie thought he looked like Wreck-It Ralph, Disney's newest animated movie to be released in November.

By the end, even my husband was punching the air helping Rocky defeat the Russian.

We all cheered loudly when Rocky won.

McDaniel announced that she still wanted someone like Rocky.

Sigh.

There are worse things.

Right?

Making Up is Hard To Do

Day #7 of 31 Days of Storytelling

When it comes to make up I am a "make it look natural" kinda gal.

Most days I don't even wear it.

I rarely wear lipstick,

I am a lip balm kinda gal.

Because there is nothing worse than having chapped lips and NOT having lip balm to soothe them.

That is so not true, but in the moment if FEELS like it is true.

So when I saw tinted lip balm at the store I thought to myself:  brilliant!

Not brilliant.

I grabbed it during one of those chapped lip panic moments and applied it (without a mirror)

liberally.

After much reaction, my daughters finally pointed me to a mirror where the Dark Knight Joker was looking back at me.

This image is why I never saw that movie.

S-C-A-R-Y!

Side note:  When my daughter, McDaniel, was in 4th grade she had a student teacher who dressed like the above Joker (complete with smeary make up) for their Halloween party at school. 

Me to him:  "You are terrifying."

Him to me:  "Thank you!"

He is no longer at the school.

That is all I have to say about that.

Not long after my lip balm incident, McDaniel rifled through my purse desperate for chapped lip relief

(what is WRONG with us and chapped lips?!) 

and made the same mistake.

We caught it on film.

I have NO IDEA where she got her silliness.

I need to throw that tube away.

Why did I bring this all up?

Well, there are times, like when I go out with the hubby, when I want it to look like I have make up on.

Just a hint.

Not stage make up, 

but a tasteful pop of color.

I knew I needed help.

I turned to my friend Carisa.

She loves makeup.

In fact, her idea of a fun Friday night is hanging out at Sephora and letting them "make her over".

I have to say, her make up always does look nice. 

And it suits her.

That's what I want.

Make up that suits me. 

Right colors, 

right amount, 

right result. 

Simple math.

But I failed to figure into the above equation that Carisa brings out my silly.

Right to the surface.

With little to no effort on her part.

We giggle. 

A. 

Lot.

Even this picture makes me laugh. Because I know if I were there
she'd have me giving a thumbs up too and I wouldn't even know
why were doing it. But I would be having a BLAST!
She is fun that way.

Fast forward to me sitting down in the make up chair at Sephora

with the haunted house lighting 

(woof! not flattering) 

and a woman ready to apply lipstick to my lips.

"Be normal," she said.

So I burst out laughing and shot snot out of my nose onto her hand.

"Did you just shoot snot on my hand?" the woman asked.

I assumed it rhetorical.

I can't remember exactly what Carisa said but something to the effect of,

"That's as normal as you're going to get with her."

Bless the Sephora woman's heart, she stuck with me.

And made Carisa walk to the other side of the store.

Which only made me giggle more.

She applied a very neutral looking lipstick to my face.

Very safe.

A little terra cotta pot like in color.

But very me.

Carisa, again I am paraphrasing, said,

"No, no, never, never, ain't no way. 

That's what she normally wears. 

She needs a pop of color."

The woman said, "She won't wear a pop of color, I can tell. This is fine."

This from a woman whose name I didn't know, who had seen my face for all of 3 minutes.

They argued for awhile like I wasn't there.

Carisa suggested a color with a little orange in it.

The woman nixed it.

So Carisa pulled some out of her purse as the woman walked away to get something else NOT in the orange family.

In ninja like fashion, Carisa, came at me from behind and with what felt like a panty liner, wiped the old color off my lips and quickly smeared orange on my lips.

Sorry to be crude, but that is how my brain processed it. 

It all happened so fast.

I screamed out in panic 

(I am a rule follower).

"Teacher! Teacher!" Remember? I didn't know her name.

She popped her head around the mirror, "Did you just call me Teacher?"

I assumed it rhetorical…again.

She shook her head in disappointment. 

And we all agreed that orange was not for me.

We walked around the store to look for colors of foundation, blush and lipstick.

The store was an assault to my, well, everything.

So much to see, touch, smell and hear.

I couldn't quite figure out the large picture of the woman with zombie-like makeup. Her lipstick was bright red with black just in the center of her lips. There was black smeared all around her eyes.

It was like The Night of the Living Dead.

Not the pop of color I was looking for.

I worried that it was for someone else.

Can you imagine standing next to 
that someone in an elevator?

Seriously! Take a minute and REALLY imagine it.

The names of the make up were, well, unrepeatable.

Honestly, did some suits sit around a conference table and think up these explicit names and then drive home and feel good about themselves?

One tube of lipstick color didn't have a name at all,

but rather a sound.

I won't make it.

There was an older man in there shopping.

Can you imagine asking your husband to pop into Sephora on the way home and get you some @!*# lipstick?

I can't.

Mine can barely handle the word bra said in his presence.

In conclusion, the Sephora woman and Carisa found a great blush, foundation and lip color for me.

And I can say the names out loud of two of them.

She tried to upsell me on the eye shadows but there was so much glitter involved I felt like I could perform at a competitive cheerleading competition.

In the end, she said it was "fun" working with Carisa and I

and asked us to come again.

I assumed it rhetorical.

Movies

Day #6 of 31 Days of Storytelling

We have two girls, one is 13 and one is 10. One is ready to watch movies that the other one isn't.

We aren't ready for the one to watch the movies she THINKS she is ready for.

Lost yet?

We were, er, are.

So my husband and I have been thinking about the movies we loved growing up. The timeless classics 

(which essentially means a lot from the 80s).

They thought E.T. was boring.

We let the oldest watch the Back to the Future series. She liked it a lot but the language kept us from letting the younger one watch.

I know! We were shocked too!

So far we've hit a win with Hoosiers 

I am one, so there's that. 

AND both my girls play basketball,

so there is definitely THAT.

My 10-year-old's take away from Hoosiers:  "Why were the boys' shorts SO SHORT and the cheerleaders' skirts SO LONG?"

Last weekend we ventured into Rocky territory.

Not literally.

No, wait, yes. Literally!

I realized as we watched 1 & 2 that I didn't see either one in the theater.

I was too young.

PLEASE let me have this one. I don't get to say this like, EVER!

And I really don't think I ever saw 2 the entire way through.

Also, those two movies are really love stories, without a ton of boxing in it.

My 13-year-old fell in love with Rocky:  "He's so adorable! I want someone like that!"

Needle scratching record. 
Music comes to a halt.

Is this how the Keaton family felt on Family Ties when Mallory brought home Nick?

He kinda even looks like Sylvester Stallone did in the Rambo movies.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, YOU ARE TOO YOUNG! 

Enjoy it.

Which is why I need you to just let me have what we talked about above.

Not that Rocky isn't endearing in his adoration and complete devotion to Adrian. It's what we hope our daughters will seek out in a mate.

You gotta love it when he says of his relationship with Adrian:  "We fill each other's gaps. She's got gaps. I've got gaps. We fill each other's gaps."

When my girlfriend and I were discussing this on our way to Sephora (story coming soon) she made the comment that it was an early Rocky version of Jerry Maguire's "You complete me."

You fill my gaps.

You complete me.

It is the same.

Rocky's just been hit one too many times in the head.

And he says "Yo" a lot.

I think I would have a problem if my son-in-law started greeting me with a "Yo!"

A big problem.

But Rocky isn't real.

Rocky isn't real.

Rocky isn't real.

Rocky #3 is scheduled for this weekend. That is when he fights Mr. T. If I remember right,

(since I was SO YOUNG) 

the boxing scenes get more intense.

With any luck, my teen will fall out of love with him.

If not, we will just show her a picture of Sylvester Stallone today.

Hey, Mom, Could You…?

Day #5 of 31 Days of Storytelling

I had something else all written and lined up for today's storytelling. Then last night I heard these words from my oldest daughter,

"Hey, Mom, could you help me make 6 Texas Longhorn shirts by Friday?"

We don't live in Texas.

We don't live in the Southeast.

"You are so creative, I know you will come up with something great."

Aww, shucks. Ok.

OK?!

So here is a bit of the back story.

This is for my daughter's 8th grade gym class. They have been learning teamwork by dividing up into groups for flag football teams (they drew team name's out of a hat). They are graded on attitude and spirit and performance, etc.

Somehow my daughter ended up as the coach.

Much to the chagrin of some of the boys on her team.

So on attitude day, the Texas Longhorns were awarded a 5 out of 10.

McDaniel tried to talk to them.

McDaniel tried to talk to the gym teacher.

McDaniel REALLY wants an A+ in gym.

The teacher told her that these type of situations were what real coaches dealt with all the time.
And that there would be an opportunity to make up some points on spirit day.

And THAT is how you make a day disappear.

We quickly realized since we don't live in Texas or in the Southeast, that finding anything to purchase with the Longhorns logo locally would be impossible.

So I investigated the quickest, easiest way to make 6 shirts without me hand painting each one with fabric paint.

And then poking myself in the eyes with a sharp stick from INSANITY!

Did I tell you my daughter wants each kid's last name on the back of the shirt too?

Makes you want to give her a squeezey hug, doesn't it?

So my online search led me to fabric spray paint.

Fabric paint by Tulip. Minus orange.

But I had a color issue.

It had to be orange.

"Burnt orange," my husband said.

Burnt orange?

This from the guy that sometimes wears a brown and a black sock because they are the "same thing".

Burnt orange!

I was lucky, there was orange in the fabric spray paint. Not burnt orange--more of a traffic pylon orange.

BUT. 

WHO. 

CARES?!

I picked up a 6 pack of men's undershirts from Target.

(And two bags of candy corn. It was going to be a long afternoon!)

I printed out an image of the longhorn logo, which I cut out with an exact knife to make a stencil.

I used big vinyl stickers for the letters for the last names.

Remember to put a piece of cardboard or a plastic trash bag between the shirt before painting.

I tried to put hairspray on back of paper to make an adhesive. Did. not. work.

YEAH! Only a small oops.

Vinyl letters after I sprayed them. FYI:  These are nicknames so the identity
of minors have not been revealed without their permission.

Just peel the letters up after you spray the paint. I didn't even wait
for it to dry because I needed to reuse some of the letters.

Not bad for a last minute DIY. Not perfect, but not hideous.

And I only used half the spray bottle.

I will be interested to hear if traffic pylon orange fabric paint and some men's undershirts was enough to earn back those 5 lost attitude points.

Hook 'em Horns!

Sock it to Me Halloween Wreath

Day #4 of 31 Days of Storytelling

What do sock wreaths have to do with storytelling? 

Good question.

I LOVE to craft.

What does THAT have to do with sock wreaths or storytelling?

Hang on. I'm getting there.

I love it when people see one of my crafts and ask me

the how 

or the what 

or the why 

of that craft. 

Because then it becomes a…

wait for it…

story!

Which leads me to answer the why a sock wreath question.

In a word:  Pinterest

I saw this sock wreath a while back on Pinterest. This is the original post it came from.

http://www.bluecricketdesign.net/2010/07/sock-wreath.html

I want to give credit where credit is due. 

If you haven't checked out Pinterest

(poor thing, must live in a cave and probably don't have WIFI. Wait, so how are you reading this?) 

it is the most inspiring site full of every idea imaginable and a few you NEVER would've ever imagined.

Make sure you have a block of time. 

It's addicting.

So I decided that I would give the adorable Halloween sock wreath a shot.

What you need:

•Foam wreath  
•2 or 3 pairs of Halloween socks (depending on scrunch preference-I only used 2)
•Decorative signage (optional)
•Ribbon to hang

I couldn't find a round edge foam wreath and went with a square edged one which made sliding the socks (really there was no sliding, it was yanking and pulling) a wee bit more difficult.

But I found these socks super cheap. 

And wondered who would wear them 

and with what outfit 

and would this said outfit reveal these socks in their totality 

or just offer a glimpse?

I am rooting for totality.

See how I can make a craft into a story?

It's what I do.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

THE BEGINNING.

First of all, you cut the heal and toe out of each sock (so you get two open ended pieces to slide onto your wreath form.

Oops. Forgot to flip picture before I posted it. But you get the  idea, right?

Cut the foam wreath with a knife so you can slide the socks onto the form.

Getting closer.

All this and no hot glue!

Yes, this door is over 60 years old. Jealous? I think it is the Leave It To Beaver front door too.

I added this Trick or Treat sign that fell off of a bigger decoration I used to hang outside until it rotted apart and I realized it was an inside only decoration. 

Oops.

But it works with this wreath, doesn't it?

I hung it with a silvery glittery ribbon I had on hand. But now that I'm looking at it, purple could be snazzy too.

By.

Far.

The.

EASIEST.   (hang tight, there's a payoff)

Wreath.

I've ever made. 

Like, done and hung up 

ON MY DOOR 

in less than 30 minutes.

THE END

A Funny Thing Happened While Mowing the Lawn…

Day #3 of 31 Days of Storytelling

I heard an interesting story some time ago. My friend told me that her 13-year-old son was mowing their front lawn.

That's not the interesting part. 

Be patient. I'm getting to it.

While he was mowing, a beat up, noisy, clunker truck flew around the corner onto their street

(practically on two wheels) 

and screeched to a halt right in front of my friend's house. The driver began to look at their house and the neighbor's while scribbling on a piece of paper.

My friend's son was disturbed by this. 

In the testosterone-raging-territorial-protecting mind of a 13-year-old boy, he thought it would be a good idea to whip out his pocket knife and point it at the driver while gesturing a "I have my eyes on you" kind of gesture.

The driver was not amused and gestured back. 

But not the "I have my eyes on you too" kind of gesture. 

Not even close.

Let me offer a little background to this story.

My friend's son was being maybe a teence too protective because their neighbor's house had recently been vacated

and it is adorned with copper gutters 

and there had been a rash of robberies nearby.

It was a few days later that my friend realized that they had

not 

been receiving 

the newspaper. 

I'm not sure if it was before or during the phone call to the newspaper office that it donned on her that the

beat up,

noisy, 

clunker truck driver 

could have indeed been their paper delivery guy. 

She asked the person on the phone if she could have the name and number of their deliverer and if possible the make and model of the vehicle they drove.

Can you imagine that conversation?

I can!

Receptionist:  You want to know what your paper deliverer drives? Why?

My friend:  Um, my son may have threatened him with a knife and I'd like to have him apologize.

!!!!!

31 Days of Story Telling

Ok.

 It's been awhile since I've posted.

Summer happened. 

Then the start of school happened. 

Then life happened. 

Nester is a blog that I follow. She started the idea of 31 days of writing a few years ago.

By theme. 

Like 31 Days of Grace. 

Or 

31 Days to a More Organized Home. 

(I like the grace one better, don't you?)

Many bloggers have joined in, writing their own theme of 31 days.

I thought about this for awhile and like many of my "thinking times" I started to do something else.

The laundry.

Then it hit me.

While I love a good theme for parties. I knew if I imposed a theme to this

my first attempt 

at blogging for 31 days

IN A ROW 

(gasp)

 I needed a non-theme theme, if you know what I mean.

So somewhere in the dirty dark pile of laundry, "story telling" came to me.

I can do try that.

I can make anything most things a story, right?

At least that's what my husband says when he wants to know why the tire is flat (again) and I have to lay out the proper back story and mood description before getting to the meat of the story.

(Yes, I hit that sharp metal drain again when I cut the corner too close.)

So…

Hold me accountable oh 31 days of October!

(She said like Linus to The Great Pumpkin on Halloween)

Squeeze from me 

(wait, eww!) 

the stories from my past, 

my present 

and maybe even a few I just make up 

(come on, Halloween is in October, I will have things to do!).

Scared yet?

Oh, yeah, I'm counting this as Day 1.