Ten Reasons Why I'd Rather: Part Three

You know, I have to admit the older I get, the more I realize what a jerk I really am. Not a jerk in that I wouldn't help someone out. Or that I'm impolite or would ever bring my baby to a movie theater. But I can be a real snark when it comes to taste in music, books, movies- or people who speed through residential neighborhoods. Yes, I can own being a jerk upon occasion. And one of those occasions (I am sorry to tell you) is right now. Because I have a little confession to make, something that may or may not offend more than a few of my friends and family members. But I have to be honest: I hate scrapbooking. I loath the stickers and the adorable catch phrases that come in packets of three, bedecked in ribbon and festive paper. I despise cutting with those horrible scissors that make stupid shapes and I detest those little photo-tape dispensers that don't even work properly. I use acid-free albums to clean up cat poo. And that isn't even convenient. Hey, told you I could be a jerk but hear me out-

"Ten Reasons Why I'd Rather Be Electrocuted than Scrapbook."
1)  Being electrocuted is far less humiliating than purchasing stickers that say "Holly's First Crap" on them. Holly does not want to be reminded of that.
2) A little electric shock hurts for a moment. An unfortunate seventh-grade portrait commemorated on paisley-patterned- paper hurts for a lifetime.
3) Fact: 4509678868 people a year die from neglected paper cuts. 
4) Electrocution makes for an interesting story, while stories about scrap-booking lead to anxiety and depression.
5) The thought that goes into creating a unique scrap-booking page could be better spent thinking about how to get your hair as voluminous as it was that time you were electrocuted.
6) Electrocution is free.
7) When you accidentally electrocute yourself you learn the valuable lesson of not sticking a knife into a toaster. When you accidentally scrapbook you learn the valuable lesson of gut-wrenching loneliness.
8) Anything printed on a sticker is better left unsaid. Baby Zebra.
9) The shock of electrocution is nothing compared to the shock of someone actually expressing interest in the album you spent innumerable hours painfully piecing together.
10)  My chances of surviving electrocution are greater than my chances of surviving an encounter with a hardcore crafter down a dimly-lit embellishment isle.

People Without Eyebrows Cannot Be Trusted.

I was a skeptic in the womb. I questioned the motives of those cooing over my crib. I never took for granted that a smile meant friendship. Which probably accounts for that blinking-eye tic I developed in second grade. Life can be stressful for a skeptical seven year old.

Life can be stressful for a skeptical 29 year old, but at least I don't have the tic anymore. Perhaps it's because I am capable of defending myself with ninja-like reflexes and jedi-mind tricks. Or perhaps it's because I have learned who generally can and cannot be trusted. For example, people wearing Muse shirts can be trusted to have awesome taste in music, while people wearing anything featuring a disney character cannot. But for all my sweet ninja moves and jedi-cognition there is one group that makes me particularly uncomfortable. And that group is the eyebrowless. Completely unwarranted prejudice? Absolutely. Hypocritical coming from a girl with a goiter you say? Just kidding I don't have a goiter. But even if I did I wouldn't trust the eyebrowless for the simple fact that I can't read them. I have no idea how they're feeling. Its unnerving. I don't like it. I may not have the most glorious eyebrows in the world (though people will insist upon telling me so) but they communicate everything you need to know about me.

\/      this means I am listening, concerned, worried, or angry.

/ \     this means I am sympathetic, sad, or really enjoying this soup.

- -    this noncommital eyebrow means I'm sleeping, thinking about cupcakes, or being wry.

__    this means I have been too busy or depressed to pluck. Probably on my period.

~ _   this is my sarcastic look/ Tom Jones impersonation.

~ ~   this only happens when Andy accuses me of something I totally didn't do!

_ ~   this means I am suspicious. Very suspicious. Probably of the eyebrowless gentleman strolling the baking isle. What are you up to Mister?

I know, I know. There are plenty of very decent human beings including Whoopi who have been born without or have lost their eyebrows due to circumstances they refuse to or can't explain properly because nobody knows if their kidding or not. It must be a frustrating life though you certainly can't tell by looking at them. Take the following sentence:

Nice job today. You are probably the best pianist alive. ~_

As you can see from the eyebrow, I was totally being sarcastic. You are definitely not the best pianist alive. Not even close.

Nice job today. You are probably the best pianist alive. \/

I mean it, you probably are the best pianist alive but I'm not happy about it.

Nice job today. You are probably the best pianist alive. no eyebrow.

Yeah, not cool is it? Whoopi 1, Me 0. Well played you eyebrowless punk. I don't even know how to react to that. ~ \

Anticipating Free Time.

There are times in my life when I write. And there are times in my life when I read. If I had my way I would spend most of my life doing one or the other. If I had it my way I'm sure I would be quite miserable. But I digress. My point is I never have enough time to do either as much as I would like, and never enough time to do both. There is the laundry and the dishes and the innumerable mundane errands that take up so much of my time. When I stop to think of how I spend my time I am frustrated by the over sized bite responsibility helps itself to. But there is no way around it. Believe me, I've walked from corner to corner. I have tried scaling it with makeshift ladders. I've tried hurdling it with unfortunate results. There is no way to have a good life and avoid responsibility. Its like Chris Farley and David Spade: Together they work, but separate them and bad things happen. If I make happiness a priority in my life (and I do) then by necessity I have to sacrifice some of the things I like to do.

For now anyway.

Maybe someday I will have time to read and write till my heart's content. Someday when I no longer have to pick up be-flowered panties off the stairs every morning. Someday when I don't have to supervise Cambria's every move. Someday when Brooklyn is willing to complete her homework without me sitting nearby, or when Avery is no longer opposed to entertaining herself. But the terrible irony is: Someday when I have time to myself to pursue whatever endeavors I currently covet, I will probably be so depressed by the lack of be-flowered panties dirtying the house, by the lack of fingerprints (and face-prints) on the windows, by the quiet of no longer being required that I'll end up writing desperately sad children's books about growing up. Like that horrid "I'll Love You Forever" book. Or I'll be a photographer that takes incredibly lonely looking black and white cityscapes. Or a painter who paints the same still-life over and over in different colors. I'm getting depressed just thinking about it.

In summary, YES I am often caught up in the busyness of being a mother. YES I have to put off things I would like to do sometimes. But OH I love my life right now. Face-prints in particular.