I'm a squanderer

I squander time, and good will, and fancy face cream, and all kinds of other good stuff. I don't mean to do it. I always begin with the best of intentions. I will be efficient today. I will return every phone call I receive. I will not use the $60 eye cream on my decolletage in the hopes that it will "reconstruct" that whole area.

When I was 14 my best friend told me she thought I worked better under pressure. Huh. Why do I remember that? Because it's true? Prolly. But it's not like I waste time laying around looking at my belly button. I waste time making other projects for myself. That way, in case I'm not FREAKING OUT enough about the one or two things on my plate, the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth things on my plate are usually sufficient to keep me crackin. I know I've talked about the sinking feeling that the resounding answer to "how do you do it all?" is probably ADHD. Truth is, if I wasn't doing all this stuff, I'd be getting myself into a heap of trouble. No doubt about it. No idea what kind of trouble, but I'm sure I'd be good at making that too. Mommy stopped crafting, and that's when she started robbing banks. You know, just to see if she could.

SO to keep myself on the up and up this week, I started, and finished a few things! So long prison orange, hello pink lap quilt. It's kind a disaster. I had an hour, and I wanted to finish it, but I didn't have one whole piece of batting, but I did have three, so I tucked them all in there, and sewed the edges, and then realized that whoopsy tootsie, as soon as I wash it, those middle pieces are going to curl up inside the thing and be all lumpy and make me hate myself. So I just stitched them in. Just went and sewed a couple of ugly lines right across my pretty pink quilt. You win some you lose some.

Burned two Yodas did I

Today I started preparations for Jack's birthday party on Sunday. Let's be honest, I started preparations days ago. Today I started baking. I'm making an R2D2 cake. My mother practically begged me not to. She sent me an email with links to two Pasadena bakeries who make specialty cakes. She said "I'm buying". She offered to send me to a spa. Again, she said "I'm buying". But how sad would it be, the mom who made ladybug and owl, and  minnie mouse cakes for her friend's kids bought her kid an R2D2 cake. There's not enough ice cream ala mode to wash that down.

R2D2's refrigerated noggin

You think I could get some ritalin from some kids in the neighborhood?