For as long as I can remember, I've been a talker. As a 3rd grader, my lifelong ambition was to someday, somehow open up my yellow, tri-fold report card with my name printed ever so neatly on the front, and not see the words I had grown so accustomed to seeing. And every single time, there it was staring back on me in that bright, red, unforgiving ink: talks too much.
I can still remember weighing the options in my 8-year-old mind. "Okay, let's see," I would contemplate. "Can I really spend nine whole weeks keeping to myself without talking to the lucky kids sitting next to me?" Maybe, just maybe, I could pull it off. Then I could be "Citizen of the Month" and get that awesome Polaroid picture posted in the hallway by the cafeteria for everyone to admire. I could do it. I could.
I considered this shift in behavior many times throughout my elementary school career, but every time I would end up right back where I started. What's one more check mark in the grand scheme of life? So, I talk too much. Big deal.
My friend, Julie, had the opposite problem. She was always sitting quietly, her nose in a book, and didn't speak to anyone. I'm still not quite sure why she ever became friends with me; we were so different. She was Citizen of the Month every year from kindergarten through fourth grade, and I was completely jealous. If only I could get my picture in that dang hallway...
These days, though, my lack of early focused self-control seems to be more evident every day. Now I talk to so many people, I find myself forgetting who I tell what and end up repeating the same stories to the same people. Guess I need to either gather some new friends or start taking notes on the ones I already have.
My new life goal is to do more listening that talking. Seriously. I'm trying it. Something happened to my self-editor these last few months, and I now find myself saying things I shouldn't much more often than I should. So that's it. Welcome to my new listening phase. I can do it. I can. No more check marks for me :)
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sing, Sing a Song
I live my life in a constant state of live, musical theatre. I'm talking a full-on Broadway musical right here between my double oven and my dishwasher. This daily production is complete with constant singing, repetitive and sometimes intricate dance steps, and even an occasional, quick wardrobe change. It might be reason #273 why my neighbors hate me.
Maybe I just drink way too much coffee, but I am constantly either belting out a song with my microphone (okay, a wooden spoon) or tapping out a syncopated rhythm like I'm a member of the percussion line in a competing drum corps. My family is downright lucky that I don't own a pair of tap shoes. I could really bust a move with those babies buckled on.
Several years ago, I actually tried to involve cheerleading jumps into my dance routine. That lasted only a few days until my high-kicking aerobesk went terribly, terribly wrong. So, I was forced to hang up my pom-poms forever and stick with what I knew…bring on the music.
And when American Idol comes on, you might as well get out of my way because my game is ON. I sing all of the contestants' songs immediately after they perform them, usually during the judges' comments. Then, because no one else is around or even remotely cares what I'm doing, I critique myself on my performance. I think I've grown a lot as an "artist" since I started a few months ago.
I'd like to think this erratic behavior is from my many years of band or choir throughout my schooling, but in actuality it's probably just me and my undiagnosed ADHD tendencies. I've been trying for years now to involve my family in my musical escapades, but my accountant husband doesn't seem to want to participate. I'll sing a bar of a song I know he knows, hand over the "microphone" and say, "take it away, honey!" He just stares at me, shakes his head, and slowly walks away, wondering how in the world he entered into Holy Matrimony with a loud, singing lunatic such as me. I'm not discouraged, though; I have full confidence that one of these days he'll come around and join one of my many musical numbers.
My 8-year-old, on the other hand, can carry on an entire conversation with me by only quoting lyrics from a 1988 classic by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. "Mommy," he'll say, "that's why I Hate Myself for Loving You." Can't say I didn't see that one coming, but at least he's on board. At least he isn't quoting Aerosmith or AC/DC back to me. See, it could be much worse.
And I'm pretty sure my 4-year-old is the only child who can sing Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. He may not have the most intelligible speech, but that boy can downright hum the bass guitar line.
I really need to switch to decaf before it's too late.
Maybe I just drink way too much coffee, but I am constantly either belting out a song with my microphone (okay, a wooden spoon) or tapping out a syncopated rhythm like I'm a member of the percussion line in a competing drum corps. My family is downright lucky that I don't own a pair of tap shoes. I could really bust a move with those babies buckled on.
Several years ago, I actually tried to involve cheerleading jumps into my dance routine. That lasted only a few days until my high-kicking aerobesk went terribly, terribly wrong. So, I was forced to hang up my pom-poms forever and stick with what I knew…bring on the music.
And when American Idol comes on, you might as well get out of my way because my game is ON. I sing all of the contestants' songs immediately after they perform them, usually during the judges' comments. Then, because no one else is around or even remotely cares what I'm doing, I critique myself on my performance. I think I've grown a lot as an "artist" since I started a few months ago.
I'd like to think this erratic behavior is from my many years of band or choir throughout my schooling, but in actuality it's probably just me and my undiagnosed ADHD tendencies. I've been trying for years now to involve my family in my musical escapades, but my accountant husband doesn't seem to want to participate. I'll sing a bar of a song I know he knows, hand over the "microphone" and say, "take it away, honey!" He just stares at me, shakes his head, and slowly walks away, wondering how in the world he entered into Holy Matrimony with a loud, singing lunatic such as me. I'm not discouraged, though; I have full confidence that one of these days he'll come around and join one of my many musical numbers.
My 8-year-old, on the other hand, can carry on an entire conversation with me by only quoting lyrics from a 1988 classic by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. "Mommy," he'll say, "that's why I Hate Myself for Loving You." Can't say I didn't see that one coming, but at least he's on board. At least he isn't quoting Aerosmith or AC/DC back to me. See, it could be much worse.
And I'm pretty sure my 4-year-old is the only child who can sing Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. He may not have the most intelligible speech, but that boy can downright hum the bass guitar line.
I really need to switch to decaf before it's too late.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
My Column
Recently, via facebook, I met up with or "friended" Holly, a friend from high school. She recently started a weekly publication in White County and asked me if I would be interested in writing a column. I thought it would be a fun thing to do, so here is my first column for her publication. I hope to write every other week or so. Hope you enjoy!
http://www.news-etc.com/issue4.pdf
Reality Show Reject
by Heather Wyatt McCreary
I love watching television, and I have as long as I can remember. My three siblings and I would wake up early every Saturday morning and stare intently at the multi-colored, vertical lined T.V. screen until scheduled programming began for the day. As soon as we saw that larger than life American flag soaring and our melodic national anthem playing in the background, we would erupt into ear-piercing squeals of delight and non-stop applause. The day had officially begun.
Our T.V. would remain on until the end of the day when we heard PBS play “Arkansas, You Run Deep in Me,” one of our state songs. I hadn’t thought about that song in years, but I can miraculously still sing all of the lyrics by heart. And now, thanks to that little trip down memory lane, I’ll be singing it for the rest of the day or, to the dismay of my family, even longer than that.
Cartoon day or “Saturday” as my mom always called it, was by far the best day of the week. It was finally time to turn the dial of our console T.V. over to Super Friends and instantaneously transform into one of the “wonder twins” with my older sister Shelly. It was my absolute favorite show, and I could “activate” into the best gosh darn “bucket of water” of anyone I knew.
At that time in the early to mid 80’s, my lifelong ambition was to someday convince Shelly to let me turn into the wonder twin who took the form of the animal, an eagle for example. She never let me…not even once. So, I eventually settled in to the idea of always metamorphosing into some form of water, whether it be an icicle, a puddle of water on the floor, or even the occasional blizzard or typhoon. Life was still good.
Now fast forward to 2009. I still love watching all different types of shows, but my heart really lies in the world of reality television. Strangers from all different walks of life are hand-picked by a production staff and thrown into various situations and observed around the clock. It’s such a novel concept. But for a Generation X’er like me, this popular genre is a bit discriminating.
Let’s face it; I’ve missed the mark for most of these shows. I’m a smidge too old and not quite talented enough for American Idol, a lot too lazy for The Amazing Race, a bit too married and child-toting for The Bachelor, and way too abdominally challenged and pale-skinned for America’s Next Top Model. So, what’s a gal to do? Just sit back and wait for a new reality show opportunity to fall into my lap?
I obviously have no other choice, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. If anyone sees any new reality show casting calls for a thirty-something, Stay-at-Home Mom with a couple of kids and quite a bit of emotional baggage in tow, please let me know. Until then, I’ll be perfecting my off-screen “wonder twin powers” in hopes of one day becoming the greatest superhero impersonator alive. It’ll help fill the void until my real break comes along. Look out world…reality television here I come.
Heather Wyatt McCreary is a freelance writer and a Searcy native now residing in Northwest Arkansas. You can contact her at heatherwyattmccreary@yahoo.com.
http://www.news-etc.com/issue4.pdf
Reality Show Reject
by Heather Wyatt McCreary
I love watching television, and I have as long as I can remember. My three siblings and I would wake up early every Saturday morning and stare intently at the multi-colored, vertical lined T.V. screen until scheduled programming began for the day. As soon as we saw that larger than life American flag soaring and our melodic national anthem playing in the background, we would erupt into ear-piercing squeals of delight and non-stop applause. The day had officially begun.
Our T.V. would remain on until the end of the day when we heard PBS play “Arkansas, You Run Deep in Me,” one of our state songs. I hadn’t thought about that song in years, but I can miraculously still sing all of the lyrics by heart. And now, thanks to that little trip down memory lane, I’ll be singing it for the rest of the day or, to the dismay of my family, even longer than that.
Cartoon day or “Saturday” as my mom always called it, was by far the best day of the week. It was finally time to turn the dial of our console T.V. over to Super Friends and instantaneously transform into one of the “wonder twins” with my older sister Shelly. It was my absolute favorite show, and I could “activate” into the best gosh darn “bucket of water” of anyone I knew.
At that time in the early to mid 80’s, my lifelong ambition was to someday convince Shelly to let me turn into the wonder twin who took the form of the animal, an eagle for example. She never let me…not even once. So, I eventually settled in to the idea of always metamorphosing into some form of water, whether it be an icicle, a puddle of water on the floor, or even the occasional blizzard or typhoon. Life was still good.
Now fast forward to 2009. I still love watching all different types of shows, but my heart really lies in the world of reality television. Strangers from all different walks of life are hand-picked by a production staff and thrown into various situations and observed around the clock. It’s such a novel concept. But for a Generation X’er like me, this popular genre is a bit discriminating.
Let’s face it; I’ve missed the mark for most of these shows. I’m a smidge too old and not quite talented enough for American Idol, a lot too lazy for The Amazing Race, a bit too married and child-toting for The Bachelor, and way too abdominally challenged and pale-skinned for America’s Next Top Model. So, what’s a gal to do? Just sit back and wait for a new reality show opportunity to fall into my lap?
I obviously have no other choice, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. If anyone sees any new reality show casting calls for a thirty-something, Stay-at-Home Mom with a couple of kids and quite a bit of emotional baggage in tow, please let me know. Until then, I’ll be perfecting my off-screen “wonder twin powers” in hopes of one day becoming the greatest superhero impersonator alive. It’ll help fill the void until my real break comes along. Look out world…reality television here I come.
Heather Wyatt McCreary is a freelance writer and a Searcy native now residing in Northwest Arkansas. You can contact her at heatherwyattmccreary@yahoo.com.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Dear Old Man who Lives across the Street from me...
I'm not that bad; I swear I'm not. We could be great friends if you'll just give me a chance.
There's really no reason you have to ignore me when you pass me on the street. I know that you know what my car looks like. You know I'm the one with the super cool minivan with the crazy kids running beside the car or hanging out the windows or sunroof. I mean, would a simple wave kill you? I'll even settle for a slight head nod. I'm not picky.
Come on...let's not pretend anymore.
And when we're both out walking or running, I do notice when you cross the street just so you don't have to acknowledge me. I can see you doing that, and I can't say it doesn't hurt a little.
What about when Ken invited you over when your electricity was off for 5 days longer than ours was. Don't lie and say you'll come over and hang with us and then not come. How do you think that makes us feel when you would rather sit alone in your frigid house with no power than to walk over here and get to know us a little better?
And, whatever you do, PLEASE don't come over here when I'm having my next garage sale and introduce yourself while looking at my friend as if she is the one that lives here instead of me. That was just plain embarrassing.
Just look at all the things we have in common:
There's really no reason you have to ignore me when you pass me on the street. I know that you know what my car looks like. You know I'm the one with the super cool minivan with the crazy kids running beside the car or hanging out the windows or sunroof. I mean, would a simple wave kill you? I'll even settle for a slight head nod. I'm not picky.
Come on...let's not pretend anymore.
And when we're both out walking or running, I do notice when you cross the street just so you don't have to acknowledge me. I can see you doing that, and I can't say it doesn't hurt a little.
What about when Ken invited you over when your electricity was off for 5 days longer than ours was. Don't lie and say you'll come over and hang with us and then not come. How do you think that makes us feel when you would rather sit alone in your frigid house with no power than to walk over here and get to know us a little better?
And, whatever you do, PLEASE don't come over here when I'm having my next garage sale and introduce yourself while looking at my friend as if she is the one that lives here instead of me. That was just plain embarrassing.
Just look at all the things we have in common:
- We both stay home during the day
- We both live on the same street
- We...ummm...
Okay, so maybe we don't have all that much in common, but I could make us a pot of coffee and you could come over and change all that. I've lived here 4 years now. I may not know your name, but here's what I do know:
- Your wife died around Thanksgiving 2007, but I didn't find out until well into 2008. I still feel kinda bad about that. I would have at least made a casserole or something.
- You never have any visitors, so you must be lonely. Let's just say...pot of coffee...you...me...Tuesday morning.
- You mow your yard every Monday morning in the spring and summer. I could bring you some lemonade if you want during the really hot months. That's just what friends do.
Didn't you ever watch Mr. Rogers Neighborhood? That will be us...minus the zippered sweater and the light tossing of the shoes. We don't even have to feed a fish or sing songs (unless you just want to.) We can sit at my kitchen table and make arts and crafts, and then the mailman will personally deliver our mail. Wouldn't that be dandy?
So, if you just give me a chance, we could make this a happier street. I think then you'll see that I'm a really great neighbor. Let's start with a wave or something, and we'll move on from there.
P.S. Thanks for driving slow when my kids are playing the street. That's always a good thing.
Sincerely,
Heather :)
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Little House on the (McCreary) Prairie
Get it...Little House on the Prairie...McCreary...they...rhyme. Okay, it's not as clever sounding when I have to explain it. Wow, what a crazy week, but we survived...and we didn't freeze to death in the process.
I've lived in Arkansas my entire life, so I wasn't all that worried when the predicted ice storm hit our area. I knew that everyone would totally freak out, all the schools would be closed, and there would be TV reporters from every local station standing on the sides of major roads in their winter garb telling us, "if you don't have to get out on this stuff...don't. Just stay in and stay warm"
Well, that all happened. Everything was fitting perfectly into my previous icy memories until early Tuesday evening when my TIVO went dark. No power. No big deal. Our power went out like once a week when I was a kid. Besides, we now had "city water" as my parents always called it when I was a kid, so we could still do SOME of the basics. I was sitting pretty with my cheap candles in my saved coffee tins, so bring on the darkness...I DARE you.
It was like a big camp out. We made sandwiches, played board games by candlelight, and I sang songs...such a "Kum Ba Yah" moment, if you will. All the while, it was starting to get awfully cold in here.
The next morning, we arose from our multi-layered blanket cocoons, and tried to begin the day. Ken, of course, went to work and the kids were playing Legos in the living room. I even busted out some pancakes on my cast iron skillet IN my fireplace. Next, I decided to get out the washboard and do a load of laundry. I boiled some water in the fireplace and took my washtub outside and began to get to work.
Okay, that last part about the washboard is totally made-up, but overall I was very impressed with my survival skills. Until, of course, later that morning, when I somehow managed to lock us all outside in the 16 degree weather. I mean who would have thought that the garage door can look from the inside when you slam it shut? Good grief.
Afraid he would have to chip us out of the ice when he returned home, Ken insisted we go up to Tyson with him that afternoon to soak in their heat for as long as we could. Our 4-hour appearance there apparently struck some of Ken's co-workers with a tremendous amount of guilt, pity, or both, as we ended up eating supper with one and spending the night with another. I was very appreciative and WARM.
It was a crazy 50 hours, complete with my own emotional breakdowns and moments of helplessness. But just as I was contemplating holding up the closest Medipak pharmacy for some unprescribed anti-anxiety meds, our power came back on. This entire process forced two of my biggest issues to suddenly slam into each other...I hate not being in control AND I hate accepting help from other people. I had to face both of those at the same time, and I just about lost it.
It's over. We (okay Ken) started cleanup on Saturday morning as the ice was thawing. We've been fortunate enough to have help from a couple of neighbors and our friend, Kirk. I'm sure it will take a while, but we'll get there.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Confessions of a 33-year-old SAHM
Disclaimer: We love our church and our pastor. The following story is just another classic example of how crazy things happen to us no matter what we do or where we go...
I have to confess...something very serious. I can't believe I'm actually admitting this, but I have now seen something on the Internet that I thought I would never see. Something so degrading to "women" that I could barely stand it.
Oddly enough, I learned about it CHURCH. What kind of church is this, you ask? Let me tell you...
It was an ordinary service. Levi was fidgety, trying to escape the sanctuary by any means whatsoever. When all the sudden, a Lego scene depicting the memory verse was flashed on the screen. Levi gasped with excitement. "What's this," I thought to myself. "Lego people illustrating Bible stories. What better way to get Levi to learn about different Bible stories. This is AWESOME."
I quickly made note of the website, and Levi logged on as soon as he entered our house. I couldn't have been happier. He was clicking through all kinds of Bible stories from both the Old and New Testaments...everything from Noah to Jesus' birth.
As Levi was expanding his Biblical knowledge, I was on the phone with my friend, Amanda. I was so excited to tell her about the cool, new website that we had just discovered only hours earlier. I was apparently way behind, as she already knew all about the site. "Get him off of there right now," she says, interrupting me mid-sentence. I couldn't imagine what she was referring to. After all, these are Bible stories for crying out loud. Calm down...relax...it's Legos. Legos...building blocks...kids toys...Legos.
After some minor navigating through the site, I saw it with my own eyes. There is was, right there staring at me. It was Lego porn.
Yup, I said Lego porn. I never guessed I could view Legos in such a way. I can't say I ever thought about it before, but now I can't get it out of my mind. I can just see me explaining why the Legos were doing that to each other. Just yesterday Levi asked me how Oliver the cat (who is a girl) could have babies if she wasn't married. And now, I just about had to explain the birds and the bees using Legos characters in compromising positions as examples.
To make matters worse, Ken wouldn't stop looking at it. He would click on a story, laugh, and call me to look. Seriously? STOP LOOKING AT THE LEGOS! Good gracious alive.
Ken quickly called Carl, our pastor, and told him what we had discovered. I think he was as surprised as we were...or at least I hope he was :)
So, we made it through the day without any major causalities. Lego porn. NOW I've seen everything.
I have to confess...something very serious. I can't believe I'm actually admitting this, but I have now seen something on the Internet that I thought I would never see. Something so degrading to "women" that I could barely stand it.
Oddly enough, I learned about it CHURCH. What kind of church is this, you ask? Let me tell you...
It was an ordinary service. Levi was fidgety, trying to escape the sanctuary by any means whatsoever. When all the sudden, a Lego scene depicting the memory verse was flashed on the screen. Levi gasped with excitement. "What's this," I thought to myself. "Lego people illustrating Bible stories. What better way to get Levi to learn about different Bible stories. This is AWESOME."
I quickly made note of the website, and Levi logged on as soon as he entered our house. I couldn't have been happier. He was clicking through all kinds of Bible stories from both the Old and New Testaments...everything from Noah to Jesus' birth.
As Levi was expanding his Biblical knowledge, I was on the phone with my friend, Amanda. I was so excited to tell her about the cool, new website that we had just discovered only hours earlier. I was apparently way behind, as she already knew all about the site. "Get him off of there right now," she says, interrupting me mid-sentence. I couldn't imagine what she was referring to. After all, these are Bible stories for crying out loud. Calm down...relax...it's Legos. Legos...building blocks...kids toys...Legos.
After some minor navigating through the site, I saw it with my own eyes. There is was, right there staring at me. It was Lego porn.
Yup, I said Lego porn. I never guessed I could view Legos in such a way. I can't say I ever thought about it before, but now I can't get it out of my mind. I can just see me explaining why the Legos were doing that to each other. Just yesterday Levi asked me how Oliver the cat (who is a girl) could have babies if she wasn't married. And now, I just about had to explain the birds and the bees using Legos characters in compromising positions as examples.
To make matters worse, Ken wouldn't stop looking at it. He would click on a story, laugh, and call me to look. Seriously? STOP LOOKING AT THE LEGOS! Good gracious alive.
Ken quickly called Carl, our pastor, and told him what we had discovered. I think he was as surprised as we were...or at least I hope he was :)
So, we made it through the day without any major causalities. Lego porn. NOW I've seen everything.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
My Latest Obsession
I was thinking the other day that I'm pretty sure I have an addictive personality. Seems like I find a new hobby, start a new exercise, or even find a new snack food and I can't get enough of it. Maybe it's persistence or maybe I'm just the crazy stalker woman who called the Springdale Hobby Lobby for like a week asking when their Christmas stuff would be 80% off (which finally happened last Saturday, BTW). It's a darn good thing I don't smoke or drink all that much. How scary would that be?
Then my friend, Amanda, introduced me to facebook.com, and my life has never been the same. I'm OBSESSED with it. For the 2 or 3 remaining souls who aren't on facebook yet, DON'T DO IT. I resisted for months and then finally bit the bullet and joined. Now I'm posting pictures, giving status updates, and stalking poor, innocent people that happened to know me along my route through life.
People watching has always been one of my hobbies, but this takes it to a whole new level for me. Now I get to see what different "friends" have done with their lives, see pictures of their spouses and children, and probably the most curiosity-sparking for me, to see what they do for a living. Most of the professions I could have guessed, but some totally catch me by surprise.
Interesting, yes, but I must admit that it sometimes makes me a bit sad, maybe even regretful that I didn't work a little longer than I did before my Levi was born. I really can't imagine not being here to take Benj to therapy or to pick up Levi from the bus stop, but sometimes I'm stuck with the what if of it all..
So, I find myself mentally (and sometimes verbally) editing every written document I see. Anything from letters from the school to signs along the road, I do it ALL of the time. I know I can go back to work at any time, but it's been so long now (8 1/2 years) that I feel a bit rusty. I can just see my first interview now.
Interviewer: Okay, let's see some of the pieces you've written.
Me: Well, like I haven't actually published anything per se, but I do this really cool online blog and it's totally fun, pointless, and pretty much meaningless. Whatcha think?
Call me crazy, but somehow I don't think that's going to cut it. Several years ago I tried my hand at freelance writing without much luck. Okay, "much" is a bit exaggerated, let's so NO luck. Maybe it's time to re-examine that again. That's a good New Year's Resolution for me.
Until then, though, you're stuck with reading my random thoughts about everyday situations that I encounter along the way.
Speaking of which, it's time to call Hobby Lobby again. That 90% off sale is bound to happen any day now :)
Then my friend, Amanda, introduced me to facebook.com, and my life has never been the same. I'm OBSESSED with it. For the 2 or 3 remaining souls who aren't on facebook yet, DON'T DO IT. I resisted for months and then finally bit the bullet and joined. Now I'm posting pictures, giving status updates, and stalking poor, innocent people that happened to know me along my route through life.
People watching has always been one of my hobbies, but this takes it to a whole new level for me. Now I get to see what different "friends" have done with their lives, see pictures of their spouses and children, and probably the most curiosity-sparking for me, to see what they do for a living. Most of the professions I could have guessed, but some totally catch me by surprise.
Interesting, yes, but I must admit that it sometimes makes me a bit sad, maybe even regretful that I didn't work a little longer than I did before my Levi was born. I really can't imagine not being here to take Benj to therapy or to pick up Levi from the bus stop, but sometimes I'm stuck with the what if of it all..
So, I find myself mentally (and sometimes verbally) editing every written document I see. Anything from letters from the school to signs along the road, I do it ALL of the time. I know I can go back to work at any time, but it's been so long now (8 1/2 years) that I feel a bit rusty. I can just see my first interview now.
Interviewer: Okay, let's see some of the pieces you've written.
Me: Well, like I haven't actually published anything per se, but I do this really cool online blog and it's totally fun, pointless, and pretty much meaningless. Whatcha think?
Call me crazy, but somehow I don't think that's going to cut it. Several years ago I tried my hand at freelance writing without much luck. Okay, "much" is a bit exaggerated, let's so NO luck. Maybe it's time to re-examine that again. That's a good New Year's Resolution for me.
Until then, though, you're stuck with reading my random thoughts about everyday situations that I encounter along the way.
Speaking of which, it's time to call Hobby Lobby again. That 90% off sale is bound to happen any day now :)
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