distractions

I really should be cleaning, sorting, folding and scrubbing right now ... But I'm stalling instead.

At this moment, I'd rather not be productive or maid-ish, instead, I'm reluctantly cracking the whip from the semi-stationary position of this computer chair. I'm verifying Facebook statuses, commenting on graduation photos, and responding to blogs ... not directing clean-up efforts.

Instead, I'm being "gifted" with the sounds of unsupervised squabbling and muffled (not very successful!) attempts at co-brother tidying. Surprise, surprise, the boys were more resistant to creating order than I was and somehow managed to have a rather tense argument over one brother's choice to ditch some boxer shorts ("they're too small; I won't wear them" vs. "you're being ridiculous; they still fit"!). I guess their ability to avoid work was gleaned from the master!

However, the daughter is quietly plugging away. She's "shoveling" out weeks of living in final exam hell with no time to keep track of the mundane ... her room could have easily been classified as Superfund site! She has dutifully donned her white bio hazard suit and her toxic chem goggles and is slugging away at clearing out the bigger, chunkier bits of adolescent debris. It's appalling, really.

But then there's my room. Disgusting, actually. It looks like a laundry mat recently attacked by madmen and household-order anarchists. It's quite amazing how much clean laundry I can throw into unidentifiable piles with a rate of wrinkles that rivals any old 80 year old man's crinkled countenance!

I must, nay am compelled to, stop right here. I can't take the guilt any more. The beautiful weather outside is mocking me for continuing to put off this drudgery any longer when I know that my reward will be lounging poolside with a good book.

So, here I go ... my useless housework is a'callin' ...

miracles are welcomed

especially those of a statistical nature!

I bought my token $5 worth ... actually even filled in some of the numbers instead of going all random (my attempt at exerting some 'control' over a terribly uncontrollable situation)

The odds are 1 in 195,249,054 ...

not very good, are they. Unless, of course, you're looking for a miracle!

*sigh*

In a way, I'm really glad these are the only statistics I'm contemplating right now.

So in a way, I have my miracle ...

he always knows

Max, Mr. intuitive, observer supreme, current dog of less funk and filth ALWAYS knows when I'm leaving for the weekend.

He 's like glue to my side and dogs my footsteps the entire time I'm rushing about the house trying to sort out items for the trip.

The coup de grace is when the "big bag" gets hauled out of the attic.

*key dramatic music*

He HATES that big bag with the flowery handles ... absolutely despises it! Poor fella probably thinks that this time (out of every other time) I'm never coming back!

And no amount of reassurance by Pos and the kids can convince him that that ain't so ...

am i the only one who struggles with this ...

As a middle-aged woman, who should be hitting her emotional stride (so to speak), and happily rejoicing in some hard earned confidence, why am I still bugged by body image garbage?!

I mean, I'm incredibly lucky that I'm healthy, active and still have unrestricted use of my ankles and knees. I can run, frolic, skip and canter with the best of them but somehow find myself skidding to a stop when I catch a glimpse of my little bumpy frame in the reflection of a passing mirror/picture glass window. *Ugh* I have no idea why I can't reconcile myself with the realities of physical aging (I mean, my chubby tummy is a well worn symbol of the three babies I gratefully carried to term; my ample backside is a familial gift of thriving genetics; my stocky legs are carry-overs from, I'm positive, good solid farming stock).

But personally, I think one of of the biggest reasons I have such a hard time with these silly imperfections is because of several cultural factors.

Take exhibit A:
There is absolutely NO way I could EVER look like this (unless I undergo the knife several times!)

But take Exhibit B:
Now we're talking! In my humble opinion, the ancients had it right all along ... big, bulbous and beautiful! I really should focus on old measures of beauty and start filtering the ridiculous versions we have today!