It’s a word that gets thrown around often.  Not just with me; we all use it.  Busy.  We’re ALL busy.  Caps, bold, italics.

“Sorry I never got back to you; I’ve been so busy!”

“How’s your summer?” “Busy!”

Me, personally?  It’s never occurred to me to keep track of how many times a day I say it, hear it, think it.

Any time I take my boys (three of them, all under age five) out in public?  At least one casual observer will offer a grin and a sympathetic “I bet you’re busy!”

When my husband reluctantly asks me to do a favor or take care of something household related because he works pretty crazy hours anymore?  “Babe, I know you’re busy enough already, but if you get a minute during naptime or whatever, could you…?”

When I look at the stack of library books on my nightstand or on the end table in the living room? “Ugh, if I wasn’t so busy, I’d be through those already!”


A lot of my busy-ness is of my own making.  Apparently I took Aesop’s Fables a bit too literally as a child, because every time I ignore work to do something pleasurable, I’m reminded of the Grasshopper and the Ant.  Remember that story?  The ant worked and worked, never taking time off, while the grasshopper, all “Carpe Diem!” played and forgot to prepare for winter.  So when wintertime rolled around, the ant was warm and full, while the grasshopper died a cold, hungry death.

That must be it.  I hate being cold.  And hungry.

So I stay busy.  Not always particularly productive, but definitely busy.  And when I say busy, I pretty much mean in the sense that I start 349587348962 projects and approximately 2 get done.

Take, for instance, this spring.  I found an ant infestation in my spider plant (here we go with the ant theme again). So I carried the plant to our back deck, where I drowned those suckers out, then gave them a nice, healthy dose of old coffee grounds to show them I meant business.  Apparently, ants hate coffee.  So maybe I’m not as much like an ant as I thought.  Anyway… my spider plant.  I didn’t want to bring the ants back inside, so I let my plant sit on the deck for a couple of days.  It was still spring, and we weren’t finished having frost then, so a few leaves on my plant were sacrificed in the effort.  When I pulled them to make room for new growth, I put the dead leaves on top of last summer’s hanging basked from the deck, my Mother’s Day petunia from Ryan and the boys, which I never emptied last fall.

Fast forward to late July.  This past Saturday morning, Ryan took the boys with him to run an errand while I stayed home.  After they left, I wandered back to the deck to pick up yesterday’s swim suits and towels, and decided maybe it’s time to finally clean out that hanging basket.  What I found when I moved those dead spider plant leaves took me by surprise.



My point is, yes, I’m busy.  We’re ALL busy.  Caps, bold, italics.  It’s not exclusively a parent thing, or a student thing, or a career thing or a sports thing or a…well, you get it.  Life is hectic, and messy, and crazy, and unpredictable.  And sometimes, under all that busy-ness, there are surprises budding that we aren’t expecting.

And aren’t those the best?






Something to Read

Can you believe I’ve been posting here for over a year already?  This whole blogging thing still feels so new to me sometimes, even 120 posts later.  In some ways, I’m still searching for my blogging identity.

This was going to be a blog about interior design and decorating; that’s where the “unsolicited advice” headline came from.  That led to posts about food, recipes, and entertaining. Somewhere along the way, I also found reason to share anecdotes about life and love, family and my magnetic attraction for accidents.   And now, in this blog post about blogging, I’ve found that this is just a place for my mishmash of all that makes me tick- my greatest loves in life.

One great love I have yet to discuss is my love of literature.  Strange, huh?  That is, coming from a girl who admits an addiction to her Kindle.  This girl who admits a love of reading and who obviously enjoys writing (hello, 120 posts?)  I’ve never shared with you what’s on that Kindle, but today seemed as good of a day as any to disclose what I love to read- both on my literal bookshelf and my electronic one.

My first disclosure is the fact that I inherited from my mother a passion for, ahem, passion.  In the literature I appreciate, that is.  If you were to get your hands on my novel collection, the majority of what you would find is romance.  Danielle Steel, Karen Robards, VC Andrews, Nicholas Sparks… I’ve read most everything by each of these authors.  It’s a guilty pleasure.  And since I’m just following in my mom’s footsteps, it’s clearly not my fault.

I’m not all romance and fru-fru though…just mostly.  I’m also a collector of the classics (read: they’re on my shelf, waiting for the day I feel intellectual enough to pick them up and attempt to- a. understand them, and b. be able to discuss them intelligently.)  On my shelf, waiting patiently for the day I wake up smart, are Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Feminine Mystique, The Count of Monte Cristo, several of Dickens’ best, some Jane Austen, and of course, Shakespeare.

I love poetry by Walt Whitman, but I’m also a sucker for Shel Silverstein.  The Giving Tree is one of my favorites ever, and a college roommate once bought me the Where the Sidewalk Ends collection.  I recently came across Everything On It, which is my most newly coveted piece of literature.

Recent bestsellers that have been made into movies are another weakness, but only under the stipulation that I’ve read the book before I can allow myself to see the movie.  I’ve devoured Eat, Pray, Love; The Time Traveler’s Wife; My Sister’s Keeper; Charlie St. Cloud; The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo; Water for Elephants; One Day; Marley and Me; Sarah’s Key; Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code, Angels and Demons, and The Lost Symbol; and probably most notably, the Twilight series.  Sadly, the last few weeks have been filled with a countdown to the theater release of the latest Twilight movie, Breaking Dawn Part I.  It’s a sickness, really.

Every once in awhile, I’ll pick up a biography.  The first one I ever read was Dolly Parton’s autobiography, a book my Pappy received half a dozen copies one Christmas.  He was one of Dolly’s biggest fans, and when he ended up with some extra books, he loaned a few out.  This was several years before he passed away, so I was probably in fourth or fifth grade when one of those happened to fall into my hands.  My favorite biography, though, is Lucille Ball’s Ball of Fire by Stephen Kanfer.  Shortly after finishing the book, my husband took me to visit Lucy’s hometown of Celeron, NY, a suburb of Jamestown.  I was starstruck the whole day.

It may not seem like it today, but cold weather is coming.  The days have grown impossibly short already, and before we can blink twice, we’ll be watching the snow fall.  Since I recently discovered the amazingness that is the stove-top espresso maker my mom bought me for Christmas a few years ago, I’ll be siting inside where it’s warm, drinking homemade salted caramel mochas and devouring whatever genre of literature catches my attention.

What are your recommendations, friends?  What do you like to read?  Have you picked up anything intriguing lately?  Please share!