Last night Jonas got his revenge by banging on our keyboard until it broke. I now have a new keyboard; it’s the cheapest one that Best Buy carried, and let me tell you it feels darn weird to be typing on it. I think it’s because it’s clean. I’m used to having a keyboard with dribbles and sticky keys because Chris and I eat at eats half of our meals while on the computer.

Ok, I post about how I’m a horrible child abuser who brushes her kids’ teeth with soap and you people reward me with twenty-seven comments. Interesting.

I am in the process of cleaning out my scrapbook room. Now, I do tidy from time to time. It’s the obligatory clearing of the counter so I have space to work. It’s been getting smaller and smaller for months now, which probably explains why I’ve started doing so many mini albums. I did a twelve by twelve layout a few days ago and had to work on top of my piles of scraps and various bits of cropping filth, and even branch out onto the top of the dryer. Now I’m doing such a thorough cleaning I’m even going to attempt to remove the glued on crud. I went through my cardstock rack and pulled out all of the ugly colors. I recently discovered that my scrapbook store will let me exchange this stuff for new stuff, so out with the old, in with the new! They will love counting all six hundred sheets of paper. The stuff that is too old to be exchanged is all in a heap on my counter waiting to be moved to a box. At that point I’ll call all of my scrapping friends and say, ‘Come buy Lou’s crap- CHEAP!” It’s mostly last season, so it’s not like it’s old and moldy 1998 scrapbooking stuff; most people think I’m crazy to get rid of the good stuff I part with, but if it’s not making my muse sing- it’s outta here. I must balance the harmonies in my studio, because right now it’s an assault to the senses.

Did you know that if you Google “random bloody noses” I am the number one hit? No kidding. To you people out there searching to find answers to your bloody nose problems, I don’t have them, but I feel your pain.

Jonas spends all day asking, “Where’d you get it?” I must answer or he will drone on and on like a broken record until my hair hurts. If I say something was for Christmas or a birthday he always says, “Thank you Gramma Sue car?” Or “Thank you Gramma Claudia jammies?” Everything is from his Grammas. Occasionally he will sigh and say, “Santa good, thank you Santa!” Because he needs to know the origin of all things, my little Darwin has been struggling to figure out where his sister came from. Now he asks, at least once a day, “Thank you Maggie Doctor?” To which I reply, “Maggie didn’t come from the doctor. Maggie camefrom Heavenly Father. Mommy grew her in her tummy.” Or some other normal, semi accurate answer. He refuses to give either me or God credit, and insists that we need to thank the doctor for Maggie.

Well, that’s all folks. I have glue that needs to be scraped off my counter so I can get back to the creative aspects of scrapbooking instead of this housekeeping business. Peace out.