Keeping Busy
Well, I've really sucked at writing on my blog recently. In all honesty, I've been incredibly busy. My sister is getting married this weekend, so everything is weddingweddingwedding right now.
Although, truthfully, I could have been writing if I'd been setting my mind to it. I've had enough time to make a baby mobile in the evening. And trust me, it is the most bizarre mobile that you've ever seen. You see, I am addicted to Christmas ornaments. Every January, I get really sad packing away my ornaments because I know that they are going into hibernation for a year. It seems like such a shame to me, to hide away such glittery pretty things for 11 months out of the year.
I recently bought some really cool ones, some of them from an ornament line called Funkytown (if that tells you anything to the spirit of the bobbles.) After I bought them, I decided that they have to be used for the good of humanity because they are too cool. I bought some aluminum wire and created a mishmash curly baby mobile. Jason is skeptical. As long as it is sturdy and placed away from baby's prying hands (I think it will be dangling over the changing table), he is willing to give it a chance. I will try to take a picture of it for viewing.
I also finished a scrapbook last week. I had all these old pictures of Jason and I from our younger days, so I created an album of "The History of Jason and Ellen." I showed it to my parents and they laughed at some of the many many differences between the two of us growing up. Jason is almost always outdoors, riding a bike, scuba diving, spelunking, what have you. I, on the other hand, am nearly always indoors, wearing a wig or dancing around in an elf costume or some such nonsense. I happened to place two pictures next to each other of the two of us during college, the same summer, but before we ever met. He is covered in grime, racing a mountain bike across a field as fast as he can. I am wearing my mother's old prom dress, racing barefoot across our driveway as fast as I can, so that the organza will flap in the wind properly.
There's no telling what sort of child is going to pop out of me.
Although, truthfully, I could have been writing if I'd been setting my mind to it. I've had enough time to make a baby mobile in the evening. And trust me, it is the most bizarre mobile that you've ever seen. You see, I am addicted to Christmas ornaments. Every January, I get really sad packing away my ornaments because I know that they are going into hibernation for a year. It seems like such a shame to me, to hide away such glittery pretty things for 11 months out of the year.
I recently bought some really cool ones, some of them from an ornament line called Funkytown (if that tells you anything to the spirit of the bobbles.) After I bought them, I decided that they have to be used for the good of humanity because they are too cool. I bought some aluminum wire and created a mishmash curly baby mobile. Jason is skeptical. As long as it is sturdy and placed away from baby's prying hands (I think it will be dangling over the changing table), he is willing to give it a chance. I will try to take a picture of it for viewing.
I also finished a scrapbook last week. I had all these old pictures of Jason and I from our younger days, so I created an album of "The History of Jason and Ellen." I showed it to my parents and they laughed at some of the many many differences between the two of us growing up. Jason is almost always outdoors, riding a bike, scuba diving, spelunking, what have you. I, on the other hand, am nearly always indoors, wearing a wig or dancing around in an elf costume or some such nonsense. I happened to place two pictures next to each other of the two of us during college, the same summer, but before we ever met. He is covered in grime, racing a mountain bike across a field as fast as he can. I am wearing my mother's old prom dress, racing barefoot across our driveway as fast as I can, so that the organza will flap in the wind properly.
There's no telling what sort of child is going to pop out of me.
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