I know, I keep making these blogging promises like, "Oh, I'll write more tomorrow!" and then I go radio-silence for two weeks.
I have good reasons, trust me.
Let's start with The Sage; this is the quarterly Junior League publication that I am (inexplicably) in charge of. It's taken over my life. I didn't know it at the time, but I essentially signed on for a full-time job while still working as a full-time childcare provider/domestic engineer/domestic goddess. It's incredibly difficult to type/take calls/edit when you have a two-year banging on the key board or dropping the "o-Pad" on his foot. (yes, Scotty calls it an o-Pad. I hope Steve Jobs never reads this.) The Sage drama has gotten to a point where Brian actually bought me ground sage from the grocery store as a joke (and I promptly choked when I took it out of the bag). I'm not sleeping well, either. I keep telling myself, "It'll be over on [X] date," but that date keeps getting pushed back.
Quite frankly, with all of the writing/emailing/typing that I'm doing for this publication, blogging is about the last thing on my mind.
And I also inexplicably (second time in three paragraphs I've used the word "inexplicable"...it's been a long day) signed up for the Vegas half-marathon. Not that big of a deal, as I did the Indy one nine years ago, until I realized that I totally winged the Indy one because I was TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD and could do those kinds of things. As my thirty-third birthday quickly approaches, I realized the joints are tad more achy and the legs don't move like they used to. So I started going to 6am boot camp sessions (one word: awesome) and was supposed to run a 5K this weekend. Key words in that sentence: supposed to.
With the Sage drama enveloping me and the fear of a 5K looming, I did the only thing a girl in my position could: I went out.
So last Friday night, I ditched the cell phone and the running shoes and drank Veuve Clicquot at the Cosmopolitan until the wee hours of the night. 'Cause when times get tough, the tough drink really expensive champagne in an attempt to hide from their problems.
And you know what? It worked.
Saturday was spent blissfully playing with bop-bops and Leggos. We left the house only to grab dinner (deep-dish pizza with pepperoni and black olives. Not surprisingly, Scotty LOVES black olives. This is my child, after all.) And by Sunday, I was ready to face the world again. I ran, did laundry, and made some executive decisions about this publication.
So I'm happy to report I am still here. I'm even happier to report that the Sage should be done this week (fingers crossed...), allowing me more time to write about important things, like the big Bop-Bop Bash and why I like Alcide more than Erik. So, stay tuned. I swear, I'll be back this week!
I have good reasons, trust me.
Let's start with The Sage; this is the quarterly Junior League publication that I am (inexplicably) in charge of. It's taken over my life. I didn't know it at the time, but I essentially signed on for a full-time job while still working as a full-time childcare provider/domestic engineer/domestic goddess. It's incredibly difficult to type/take calls/edit when you have a two-year banging on the key board or dropping the "o-Pad" on his foot. (yes, Scotty calls it an o-Pad. I hope Steve Jobs never reads this.) The Sage drama has gotten to a point where Brian actually bought me ground sage from the grocery store as a joke (and I promptly choked when I took it out of the bag). I'm not sleeping well, either. I keep telling myself, "It'll be over on [X] date," but that date keeps getting pushed back.
Quite frankly, with all of the writing/emailing/typing that I'm doing for this publication, blogging is about the last thing on my mind.
And I also inexplicably (second time in three paragraphs I've used the word "inexplicable"...it's been a long day) signed up for the Vegas half-marathon. Not that big of a deal, as I did the Indy one nine years ago, until I realized that I totally winged the Indy one because I was TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD and could do those kinds of things. As my thirty-third birthday quickly approaches, I realized the joints are tad more achy and the legs don't move like they used to. So I started going to 6am boot camp sessions (one word: awesome) and was supposed to run a 5K this weekend. Key words in that sentence: supposed to.
With the Sage drama enveloping me and the fear of a 5K looming, I did the only thing a girl in my position could: I went out.
So last Friday night, I ditched the cell phone and the running shoes and drank Veuve Clicquot at the Cosmopolitan until the wee hours of the night. 'Cause when times get tough, the tough drink really expensive champagne in an attempt to hide from their problems.
And you know what? It worked.
Saturday was spent blissfully playing with bop-bops and Leggos. We left the house only to grab dinner (deep-dish pizza with pepperoni and black olives. Not surprisingly, Scotty LOVES black olives. This is my child, after all.) And by Sunday, I was ready to face the world again. I ran, did laundry, and made some executive decisions about this publication.
So I'm happy to report I am still here. I'm even happier to report that the Sage should be done this week (fingers crossed...), allowing me more time to write about important things, like the big Bop-Bop Bash and why I like Alcide more than Erik. So, stay tuned. I swear, I'll be back this week!
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