Wednesday, January 03, 2007


I wasn't going to make any, but maybe if I post some here it will make me feel more accountable.


Try an entrelac project (Lady Eleanor or Danica)


Deal with this mess:

Good Lord, that is embarrassing, which is why I'm posting it. My sewing room has new flooring, lighting, paint, custom cabinets. Must clean it up. Must sew curtains and seat cushions and make it a beautiful space instead of chaos. This is just another instance of putting myself last.

Also, ds has requested that I make pajamas for him again, which makes me happy. The prodigal son returns.


While I was away this weekend, dh tried to organize my photo pile which was looking a lot like the sewing room pic above. I would like to put ds's kindergarden things in a book, so his school scrapbooking will be caught up. I am not as far behind on him as on dd. His stuff is 3 years behind, but dd's is 5 or 6 years behind. . .

I think the mess is holding me back on this one. When I scrapbook, I take over the dining room table, and it bugs me to have it messy.


I'm excited about this one. One of those big boxes in the photo above is full of my soapmaking supplies. When I moved two years ago, I got rid of all my oils (35 lbs of coconut oil sloshing around in a moving truck -- yikes, y'all). Now you can't buy lye at the grocery anymore (damn methheads). I placed an order for lye and oils last night, I'm going to move my soapmaking stuff into the pantry so I can use it, and make a few batches, fun, fun.


I just tried to move it to the new blogger but it won't, since I'm a member of some big group blogs who haven't converted (I think it wants you to convert all of them). Maybe I'll unsubscribe to those so I can get this done. I want to start uploading my pics to flickr too. I guess I'll keep my old MSN photo site, since it's not costing me anything and all my old patternreviews link there.

The Rest

The rest is just the usual self-improvement stuff that nobody takes seriously. . . Diet, exercise, blah, blah, blah. Okay, I DO like to walk, and I'm tempted to enter one of those things where you track the miles. We'll see. Curves is yelling at me to come back, but I think I hate them. . .


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