*blink*

*blink*

*blink*

That would be the non-existent cursor on my computer screen.

It doesn't actually blink... in fact half the time I don't know where the little f**ker is until I hit a key but despite the fact it doesn't blink per se, I still hear it loud and clear.

*blink*

*blink*

Writing in this space has become a luxury I cannot afford and that makes me sad. BUT! I am writing. Just not here.

I'm proud of my writing elsewhere (namely:

• This Week In Muppets: Today's Jake Gyllenhaal Moment Was Brought To You By The Letter RWARR
• Pink Stinks: Or DOES IT?
• Yeah, I'm A Twilight Mom. What's It To You?
• Look Ma: I’m Watch List Worthy!
• Robin Gibb, How Deep is Your Love? Should I ask the Druid Priestess or the Housekeeper?

plus a whole bunch of other stuff over at The Bad Moms Club, Aiming Low, and MamaPop). But the writing I'm proud of is just not here.

And these are things I wanted to write about in this here space but haven't:

• The fact that I was going to stab my husband in bed the other night for suddenly getting up, going to the kitchen, and bringing back a bunch of Triscuits to eat in bed. AND I swear he used a megaphone to consume them and really drive the point home that he was EATING LOUD CRACKERS IN BED AT 3AM. Sadly I did not stab him because that would have made a better blog post (picture it, the prison diaries of a motherbumper -- I can hear the movie proposals already)
• That I've been reading recipe books like it's porn but have no intention of creating any of the delicious smut that tantalizes my eyes.
• The conservations that I'm having with my four-year old are comedy gold. Nothing is sacred in her realm and I LOVE IT. And I'm not writing any of it down because I'm a half-assed mom who likes to live in the now.
  

BUT! Yeah. Well... I haven't written any of those posts.

I also could have written about how proud I am that we decorated our Christmas tree this past weekend. Of course it's pretty easy to do that when you just pop the sucker out of the storage closet where you shoved it last year and then stick all twelve ornaments that survived the half-ass packing you did with the disclaimer "I'll repack this properly later..." which actually means sometime later in 2012 when I actually MIGHT HAVE SOME TIME. Bitter? No, not one bit.

We are all so damn busy. And by we, I mean you and me, and you over there in the corner, we are all so damn busy. Time is more precious than moon dust and moon pies these days. So what to do, what to do?

All I can do is keep my head down and keep on slogging.

Next time I'm not going to leave so much time between posts. That *blink* makes it really hard to form sentences much less coherent thoughts.

They got it wrong: Sunday's Child is Full of Face.

whine, cheese, and home reno

SB and I revisited the great "should we keep the digital box?" debate since as a family, we watch sooooo little tv and yet we pay all those heaps of important monies to maintain -- monies we actually rarely see and only appear as numbers on a screen somewhere.

Hey - do you ever think about your money and how it doesn't really exist and then you get scared because OMG what if the computers take over and cancel all your money because you just know they will hate the humans that built them. And then you freak because there is no more physical money save for the forty-eight cents at the bottom of your purse and then -- JUST IN CASE -- you might run over to the local ATM and withdraw as much as you can and stuff it under your mattress just because, you know, WHAT IF THAT REALLY HAPPENS? No? It's just me then?

Okay - back to business as "normal"

ANYHOW - we aren't really watching enough tv to justify the price. But the shows we actually DO watch we want to hump and make babies with.

So pretty much each time I get my moneyknickers in a knot, out comes the great finger to punch the buttons on the phone to cancel the damn digital box.

Then I instantly get the cold feet.

Arctic dogs and my finger goes limp.

So I do the only thing I can do. I take those sniffling pups over to the couch to watch HGTV and exercise my digits on the remote control magic wand.

Seriously folks, I know I can live on just the internet, I know I can. I don't need no stinkin' cable box to satisfy my need for A&E, HGTV, and *drool* FoodNetwork.

I think I can do it.

*sob*

Or maybe not.

Hi, my name is katie and I'm a home reno/design/real estate junkie and this is something like my sixth billionth self-inflicted blog style intervention on my inability to give up the friggin' digital box and omg, I want to punch myself in the face because this is the stupiest thing to get hung up on.

But on a lighter note: my daughter obviously has my home decoration addiction. Isn't that so cute -- in a co-dependence and potential strange mother-daughter issues kinda way?

Anyhow, Gigi, at the sage age of three, decided that we should swap the kitchen with her bedroom and she actually pitched the entire idea to me on the way home from the grocery store.

Then she proceeded to start the reno as soon as she got home.

Acting as foreman by doing nothing but barking orders from the sidelines I koboshed the whole "moving the stuff out of the kitchen" thing. That actually saved her a lot of time on the project plan so she moved to phase two: moving the bedroom into the kitch..

BEHOLD! The great kitchen / bedroom swap:

What's that? The fact that I drew an arrow towards the sink full of dirty dishes made you notice those dirty dishes? I'm new to this real estate business so forgive me. So let's move on.

Believe it or not, this used to be an apartment size galley kitchen.

I KNOW - it's hard to believe.

Notice the Italian gate-style door detail. These are made from recycled dining room chairs and lovingly fashioned into the perfect entrance to a dream bedroom.

Let's go in.

This room has everything you could dream up on your wish list --  from a bag of fruit to ... well what more do you need than a bag of fruit? Let's hear it for vitamins! No scurvy sleeping here. Fruit flies maybe but definitely no scurvy.

The room remained this way until dinner time when I discovered the gas hook-up she advertised in the bedroom-flip-kitchen unit was made of playdoh and lego blocks.

I filed my grievances at the local court house this afternoon.

He expects to hear our case sometime in November 2011.

Seriously, I have no idea when the cat went to law school.

talking points on pulp products

It seems that this keyboard is trying to shut me up. Each time I reach for it to pound out a personal post, it fails me. Yah, I'm blaming the keyboard and my misplaced thesaurus.

But that said, it doesn't mean I haven't got anything to say. It's just the words aren't falling into place. I blame global warming.

Anyhow, this morning my daughter decided she was going to use some of the tissue boxes in the recycling bin to make cozy little beds for some of her toys. Which is all fine and dandy except she decided that the two reclaimed tissue containers weren't enough so she proceeded to open up and remove all the tissues in ALL the new boxes of snot rags from the jumbo palette of boxes I purchased at some mega-store earlier this cold season. Holy run on sentence and...

*head hits keyboard*

Of course if I hadn't been so selfish as to leave her playing quietly in the room while I went on bathroom break, this wouldn't have happened. My bodily functions are so freakin' selfish. I'm thinking of having myself corked.

Anyhow, speaking of purchasing mass quantities of paper products (my broken post, my broken segue) yesterday I was talking with mamatulip about finding used bandages in unexpected places and she asked me to share a story. While we were talking used bandages, I was reminded of a story involving mass quantities of pulp (you may, hopefully will, understand why I thought of this story later on). Years ago when I still lived in Halifax, the local drug store had a huge sale on toilet paper and nothing appeals more to my inner cheap bastard than toilet paper on sale. How I wish that last sentence fragment wasn't actually true.

So yes, there was massive sale on shit-tickets and I went to the store to load up. Because two things are for certain in my life: I need TP and I'm gonna die. Screw taxes. Though if I get corked, I guess I won't need to get so freakin' excited about TP on sale...

YES BUT NOT POINT OF STORY (I warned you this was messy - but not as messy as say, when one forgets to purchase TP):

So I tumbled out of the store trying to negotiate staying upright with bags and bags of discount TP and ran smack into Kelsey Grammer. Literally. I knocked the man to the ground with my huge bags of shit tickets. He must have some Canadian blood in him because he apologized to me and continued down the street. Or he assumed I was indeed a mad woman and figured that was the safest exit strategy. Which it was.

*fin*

EPILOGUE: the next evening I was in a diner eating some moussaka with this really strange but stunningly good looking woman who I always kept at arms length because she was really REALLY intense, when in mid bite I felt like someone was watching me. And there was.  It was Kelsey Grammer standing in the window staring at my meal. He was admiring my plate and probably didn't recognize me because I wasn't carrying 96 rolls of toilet paper at one time. Because for the record, that's how many I did buy. Also for the record, the moussaka was really kick-ass tasty.

But that's NOT the story mamatulip wanted me to share, she wanted the one about the used bandage found in pizza as I stated in my comment on her post but you see, because my brain is filled with tickle associations, I categorized that story under brushes with celebs and somehow that Kelsey Grammer story ranks number one and outranks my soiled bandage served by a famous person story. Not sure why, but it does.

So yes, my dirty used bandage story is quick: Aged fifteen motherbumper goes to her favourite cafe to buy a pot of tea - because a pot of tea lasts the longest and she could sit there and chain smoke with her friends without worrying about being asked to leave by the management. On this particular day, she noticed the cafe had their yummy homemade pizza and she obviously had an extra few dollars in the pocket because she decided to buy a slice. And who served it up? Sarah McLaughlan. Motherbumper ate the pizza and when she got to the last few bites noticed that the last slice of pepperoni wasn't pepperoni but a sauce and cheese covered bandage. End of story.

For the record: pizza was still yummy and it wasn't Sarah's bandage. It was also years before either of us were famous.

See? that could have been an exciting story (not really) but this keyboard is failing me.

ANYHOW I was also going to talk about some new projects that have me hyper excited but I'm just worried they will sound less exciting because I obviously made the wrong sacrfices to the blogging goddesses this month and have lost what little ability I had to communicate online:

FIRST ~ Sweet Blog: with the magic of the lady behind Sweetney / MamaPop fame and with the design prowess of Mommy Melee we will take your blog to an entire new level of coolness. Seriously, we will rock you.

SECOND ~ Canada Moms Blogs: still in beta but rocking likes it's alpha. Still adding new writers all the time and will be official and stuff anyday now but go over and peak because HELLO _ AWESOME CONTENT! Once again, we will, we will rock you.

Okay, I'd better sign off now before they come to cut out my tongue.

~ image: flickr KateMonkey ~