Sometimes

Sometimes things are not funny. And sometimes days are much harder than you thought they were going to be. Sometimes you think you're fine...and then you're not. Sometimes no amount of boxed wine or sweat on the spinning bikes or shopping at Kohl's will make it any better. Sometimes you just have to spin around and face it head-on. Sometimes you have to take it like a man. Sometimes you have to feel it like a woman.

This is one of those times. Monday is my due date. In my quest to block it from my mind entirely, I've been stringing beads and creating rosaries and drowning in Olympic coverage. I haven't been blogging and sad to say, I haven't been reading your blogs, either. I miss them profusely and as soon as these pieces go in the mail tomorrow and we welcome home 5 heroes from Afghanistan, I'm back to stalking you. As a heads-up, I'm posting Shepherd's record of delivery on Monday. I feel like if I let the day pass without any mention, it would be unfair to his memory.

It has his tiny little footprints on it.

Monday is not for the faint-of-heart.

You've been warned.

Until then, please enjoy a rosary I created for Deborah's Place, an organization that provides transitional and permanent housing to homeless women in the Chicago area. It will be auctioned off in a few weeks with all proceeds benefiting Deborah's Place.

Photo Credit: Tinny Anna Photography

And to the 3 women who've deleted their blogs in the past month...I miss you like John Edwards' mistress missed her period. I understand it...but it still sucks.

I'll be back in full blogging form after the 22nd. Sometimes work is all that will save you. And love. But love won't wear my pendant necklaces to Kroger. He said they draw too much attention to his chest hair. So, I'll work and sell and watch Americans in funny pants skatebump their way down a big hill. And I'll be reading you. So, don't talk about me.

It Can't All Be Blogging From Bed

Sometimes, you have to go to work. Like this week, for example. I can't claim "snowed in"...I could walk out to the mailbox in my socks and still have dry piggies when I return. The unit newsletter has gone out to all the unit families, another FRG item checked off the list (hooah, hooah). And it is quickly approaching April 15th (OK maybe not quickly but when you have to itemize because that's what business owners do...April 15th is basically tomorrow. Yes, Jess of Cape Cod Awesome fame, we're going to get through this together). So, I have to go to work.

I do realize that my neighbors think that my day consists of checking the mail, walking the cats, and fleeing from the house in spandex, only to return hours later with Kohl's bags...but there is much more to it. Really.

Daisy & Elm, LLC will not run itself. In fact, without me, it's just a business license and an occupancy permit signed by my first ex-fiance (this would have never happened if I lived somewhere with more than 5000 people and 200 goats).

So, hi-ho, hi-ho it's off to work I go (which reminds me of another little ditty about the Chi-O's...but I'll save that for another time). I've got my Facebook fan page up and there are tons of crafted goodies all waiting for their chance on the stage (AKA the EZcube. I'm not sure WHY we paid an exorbitant amount of money for a big white nylon tent in the shape of a box...but the jewels sure seem to love it). There are photos to post, descriptions to write and accessories to price. I am in my element (which I suddenly realized with intense clarity last night as I was itemizing receipts from the last J-O-B). I want to be in my bed, under the electric blanket, watching Murder, She Wrote on streaming Netflix, and reading/writing blog posts. BUT...I also want to be a famous designer who creates pieces for the everyday woman...sort of like Claire's for anyone over the age of 19.

And yes...in my tween years, I spent a lot of money at Claire's. I didn't even make it out of the mall before ripping price tags off and donning the newly acquired baubles and beads. My mother thought this was hilarious. Look who's laughing now. I am. All the way to the bank.

I have an award to pick up at Kelly's @ Dare to be Domestic (and it involves mastery of skills. She's such a whore. She's already listed her master debater skills. Tbbbhhh!!). So, I promise to pick it up and pass it on Saturday. Swearsies.

And I will be catching up on your musings tonight. Last week, I voluntarily banned the laptop from the bedroom because...well...it sort of infringed upon our Biblical relations. I mean, I don't have a headache, but I do have bloggers with rants about triathalon trainings and tales of janitors gone bad and videos of husbands Wii-dancing. It's difficult to put down. I blame you. You're very compelling. But I'm letting you back in tonight so I can get all caught up. And then back to regular posting this weekend. I'm just on the verge of greatness...gotta grab those reins and ride it like Pamela Anderson. Know what I'm sayin'? Wanna see some funsies? Here's my Wordless Wednesday photos. Sorry it wasn't wordless.

Strawberry Bubblegum

Penny Blues

Butterscotch's Calla Lily

Custom rosaries with birthstones

Saturday will bring an awards ceremony, a recipe for my new favorite food (which is a PMS'ing girl's wet dream), and what Neal whipped out on our walk through the neighborhood (sorry, Surferwife...it does not involve screaming parents or curious children).