I think this is endemic of trying to balance too much OR being locked home too much in the cold winter with my three delightful yet “impish” young ladies. I find myself looking longingly at my frozen tundra of a backyard and weighing if it is worth it to wrestle the three of them into mittens/gloves (they canNOT figure out finger placement) and coats and hats for 5 minutes of fresh air…thinking how far away summer truly seems and how small a four bedroom colonial can be when filled with said “impish” girls and myself.

Regardless of the reasons I have found myself in strange states of conciousness of late.
Exhibit A: I cry at all tv. Last week I cried at “Big Fat Loser” or whatever that show is AND at the Amazing Race (which I love, but don’t really care who wins–or so I thought) AND a little, even, when the Giants won the play offs. What the heck is that??

Exhibit B: I am seriously considering if it is wise to pursue a career in bartending–a job I can go to at night, forget my worries, and just dish out the drinks. I bartended in the past, the cash is good, and I find myself thinking this isn’t only FEASIBLE it is DESIRABLE. I know in moments of rationality this sort of thinking is a bit out of whack but what if I apply in a moment of irrationality?

Exhibit C: After a weekend of having the girls all to myself, those impish delightful wonders–my husband asked if he could go to a buddy’s to watch the Giants. I said “Sure”–even though it meant more delightful alone time, just me and the girls and the fun ritual that is bedtime (now that they can’t be thrown into cribs, bedtime’s joyously stretched to hours of chasing, cajoling, threatening, and crying–usually I’m the crying one). I said “Sure” because I was hoping and longing for a single hour all to myself–without any interruptions–and I was willing to sacrifice solo bed-putting for the privilege. Which I squandered by crying over the Race and the Giants.

Exhibit D: My conversations and my thinking and my goal setting are ALL accomplished with the help of my four year old, who I feel like is the only one I have rational conversations with these days. AND, are all accomplished with a background of SHOW TUNES. Did I mention we’ve been on a Broadway roll? Peter Pan is now sharing the stereo time with the King and I and the Sound of Music. So when I’m not being called Wendy I’m being called ON to yodel or decipher the lyrics to Sixteen Going on Seventeen…

So I can’t tell if I’m losing my perspective or losing my marbles…

For a long time I tried to keep this blog very on-topic business wise about the struggles I face balancing work, kids, and the OnRamps forum. But there’s only so much you can say about it, and I lapsed into tales of general “life balancing”; if anything, I am successfully keeping up with my friends at least one sided-ly through this blog! In fact, my Christmas note this year told everyone that if they wanted to know what I was up to, to read my blog. Thus I must give the update of the past 3 weeks, entitled “How I took on too much and am totally crazy”.

This is a condensed version and does not contain any swears, timeouts, or crying—which is not the truth for the extended real life version.

Trouble began when I purchased a dollhouse kit that promised “Easy Construction”. I knew of course that this was a lie; I wisely decided not to install electric, but still figured that with the help of my mom I could bang out most of it prior to Christmas so the girls could have it. Here’s my first tip: dollhouse building is a long, laborious process involving many little parts and much glue and many STEPS as said little parts are stuck together with said glue and you wait for them to dry. And just when you’re finished you get to wallpaper and paint and stain. And when you’re finished with that you have to re-paint where the stain got and re-stain where the paint got. And then you have to re-wallpaper where the glue dribbled. My older daughter (now four, not “almost four”) was “helping” me the other day and pretending to already play with it, using small sticks instead of a family since we haven’t purchased a family yet, and she had two completely accurate observations: One, “We need a grandma for our dollhouse family”. Yep. And two, “My dollhouse mommy is going out for a drink”. Amen, sister.

But a dollhouse wasn’t enough. I also entered into a bunk bed building extravaganza. This was brought on by one twin throwing herself out of her crib and refusing to stay put—so sooner rather than later we needed to turn mattresses on the floor into bunk beds since BOTH twins were operating an all-night dance party in their room and no one was getting sleep. A few nice days over Christmas was a blessing—at least I think—it gave us the chance to do the work outside, and by “us do the work” I mean I sanded with 5 different grains of sandpaper under the master woodworker’s instructions (my husband now fancies himself “master woodworker” which really means master mess-with-sawdust-maker). If it was cold, maybe we could have bagged it. But sand we did, then we stained, then we shellaced—MW (MasterWoodworker) did help, but balked when I told him to go shellac after he got home from work one night and it was maybe 15 degrees. And we didn’t have a light in our garage. I think the crazy had set in big time, by then.

So I shellaced in our dining room and then we commenced the building. I was sure we’d finish in two hours. Here’s my next tip: building bunk beds (even when you have all the pieces cut and stained and prepared over days of labor) takes a full day and is EXHAUSTING.

What I did learn: I cannot work on additional projects with MW—he and I have different styles (mine: get it DONE, his…let’s just say it’s a bit more methodical). Two: I must not, must not, must not continue to take on any projects that last longer than one day. I lose all interest in them. Three, I better get moving on these conferences because my side-career as a handyman has ended before it began…