O Christmas Tree

The weekend after Thanksgiving my husband and granddaughters carefully chose our Christmas tree from a nearby retailer.  We all assumed that if we kept it watered it would easily last through Christmas.  Wrong.

Too late to save this one.

I'm not sure when the tree was cut (apparently it was sometime during the summer), but within three weeks of bringing it home it had become kindling.   The dog was using it as a back scratcher. 

The aftermath

When the branches started to resemble a brittle weeping willow, it was time for a replacement.  (I hope my husband doesn't make the same decision with me.)

New and perky. 
I hope my husband doesn't realize he can just as easily replace me
 with a newer, less droopy specimen.

Aaahhh, nice and fresh!  And less flammable.

Dianna's 50th Birthday Card

First things first.  Happy 50th birthday, Dianna!  Your secret is out.

If you're looking for simple, you came to the right place.  The banner and numbers were made using the Cricut cartridge "Martha Stewart Birthday Cake Art".  The border is from an American Girls Crafts punch, cut from both green and red paper, trimmed and layered.  Looking at it now, I wish I had taken it a step further and made the flowers a third color.  Oh well, I'm lazy and Dianna knows it.  I'm sure she's just happy that I finished the card and got it to her on her actual birthday.



My Daughter's 28th Birthday

My youngest daughter was born 28 years ago on Monday, the 28th of November (28 on 11/28/11--interesting!)  She's now expecting her first child.  Where did the years go?  It's a shame I had to get old in the process, but it's all good.  And isn't she a lovely mother-to-be?

Pregnancy never looked this good on me!

The owl on the card was cut from the Cricut cartridge "Give a Hoot".   And as usual, I can't remember specifics on the paper or sentiment except that they were found in my ever-growing stash.  I made the envelope using the Martha Stewart Scoring Board (love this tool!)

Thanks for looking!

Birthday Card for my [Nosy] Husband

In the midst of the holiday frenzy last week, I tried to make a birthday card for my husband (who in their right mind has a baby during Thanksgiving??? ...Oops, I did that myself 28 years ago!)  Anyway, he kept interrupting me.   Everytime he stepped into my craft room I had to hide another piece of the card under one pile or another (this is a man who seems to avoid me unless I've got something to hide, then he's all over me like white on rice).  In the end, it was like a scavenger hunt trying to find all the pieces.  Luckily, there weren't that many.  Yet another reason to keep it simple.

As for the card, the boy and his dog were cut from the Cricut cartridge "A Child's Year", and the paper and rubber-stamped sentiment are just random finds from my ever-growing hoard.

                                               

Party of One

I know my husband is tired of my pity parties.  Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to throw them so often if someone other than me would attend occasionally.

Late last night as I was making my way to bed, I noticed a telltale glow coming from beneath my granddaughter's bedroom door.  Mind you, it was well after 1 a.m.  "Get your light off and get to bed!", I lovingly reminded her (as is my way).

"uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh", was her reply (this one I have no idea how to type, but if you have teenagers, you probably know the sound--it's that one-syllable low grunt they're so fond of using).

I walked into my bedroom where my husband was already fast asleep.  I made as much noise as possible.  No response.  "I hope you realize your granddaughter is still awake", I said, once again in my nice, calm voice.  Still nothing.  Okay, this would require the turning on of overhead lights.  Take that, sleeping beauty.

I continued to my bathroom to slather on the multitude of skin products I so desperately hope will someday turn back the clock and restore my youthful contours.  Fifteen minutes later, and in a really foul mood from spending that much time looking at myself in a mirror, I returned to the hallway to see if my gentle reminder that it was past bedtime had had any effect on my granddaughter.  Her light was still on.

I flung open the door to find her sitting at her computer, not a care in the world.  "GET TO BED NOW!", I said, just slightly more agitated than before.

Back downstairs I headed, knowing it was my job to remain alert and ensure that the night owl didn't slip outside while her grandfather slumbered peacefully.  Tossing and turning on the sofa all night was the most effective way to do that.

About an hour later the dogs decided to get in on the fun by barking at something outside.  I dragged my tired self up and turned on all the exterior lights to see what the hell they thought was so important at 2 a.m.  Yeah, tomorrow was going to be a fun day.

When my husband ventured downstairs this morning, I thought it best to let him know right away that I wasn't happy and well-rested.  "I didn't get much sleep last night", I said, hoping for a teeny-tiny word of sympathy.  "Your granddaughter was still up at 1 a.m."  His reply?  "Yes, I know.  She was up when I went to bed.  I was up and down all night checking on her, too."

My reply?  "Mmmh, hmmm".  Again, not sure how to express that in writing, but if you're married, you know the sound.  The one that says, "Yeah, sure you were."

My Favorite Vacation Photos

I had a wonderful time at Disneyworld with my husband and two granddaughters recently, and I have tons of pictures to prove it.  But a couple of my favorite photos came from a detour we took on our way home.

We decided to "stop in" and visit with our youngest daughter and her husband.  It actually added about nine hours to our drive, but it was worth the effort.  Thanks to modern technology, I got my first glimpse of my first grandson:

I can't wait to meet the little guy.  Maybe you can't see it, but I can tell he's adorable!

An Ounce of Sympathy, Please

That's not me, but that's how I feel.

Last week I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and vitamin D deficiency.

I know what you're thinking. That's the same response my husband had. He might as well have said, "So?" As diagnoses go, these aren't terribly earth-shattering. But to me, it was sweet vindication.

Finally, I had an excuse a reason for my laziness lack of energy. And I wanted some sympathy. I expected to hear something like this: "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry! No wonder you can't get anything done around here! I can't allow you to prepare dinner for us tonight, not in your fragile state.  Where would you like to dine? Or is that too much trouble?  Should I just order takeout?"

Only in my dreams. I cooked dinner that night, just like every other night of my life. The kids complained about what I served, just like every other night of my life. I'm still cooking dinner every night.  The kids are still complaining. And I still can't put onions in anything.

Please Join Me For a Glass of Whine

It hasn't been a good month life.  And today, our one semi-dependable vehicle was rammed by a clueless woman who proceeded to park at CVS as if nothing happened and step inside (for an awareness pill, I hope), all while my husband and his car were fishtailing helplessly on the highway outside.

I would love to buy a new vehicle.  Or a newer old vehicle.  Just something that doesn't leak a quart of oil daily.  Or doesn't have a crushed side panel.  Something that was built in this century would be a nice change.  I'm just not sure that's a luxury we can afford right now.  We're already dipping into what little retirement money we still have to pay for the monthly cost of living (things like food, housing, electricity, water, orthodontia, and motor oil).

I'd cry if I had any energy left.  My husband depends on that car to get him around while he works his second job trying to sell things to people who don't want to buy.  I drive the kids around in the Pennzoilmobile. Thank goodness we were able to vacation at Disneyworld recently.  It was a great stress-reliever (at least it was once I got used to dodging oversized strollers and speed demons on scooters playing chicken with us).  Luckily, with the exception of food and gas, the trip was already paid for.  And we had to eat no matter where we were.   As if by Disney magic, we didn't have to deplete the retirement funds to finance this trip.

Upon reflection, my life really isn't so bad.  I have two beautiful granddaughters who keep me young (or age me excessively, depending on the day).  I have two daughters I love dearly who give me precious grandchildren (including the brand new grandson I'll get to meet in a few months).  And I have a loving, hardworking husband who thankfully wasn't hurt today, and who laughs along with me (and allows me to cry) about this crazy life we've been given.  I guess I've been blessed after all.

My Next-to-Last Visit to Walgreens

Part of my evil plan to rule the world

I just returned from what would have been my last visit to Walgreens except that I plan to go back one more time to return my purchases.

My primary reason for going was to buy a box of haircolor for my granddaughter using a coupon I received from Garnier for a free box.  (The last free haircolor coupon I received was thrown away by my husband, and I was determined to use this one.)  First we stopped at CVS.  They didn't have the bright-red color she thought she had to have.  "Let's go to Walgreens", she said.  "They'll have the exact same selection!", I told her.  "No, they won't!", was her all-knowing reply.  Mind you, it was her idea to go to CVS because "they have more colors than Walgreens" and "I don't like Walgreens anymore".  (The last one I can so agree with now.)

Thanks to the highway department trying to protect us from ourselves, I had to wait at a traffic signal to make a left turn and go around the corner and make another left turn to reach the store directly across the street.  But whatever.  I had to prove to a thirteen-year-old that I actually learned a few things in my 53 years on this earth.

As I expected, Walgreens had the exact same shades of haircolor as CVS.  Of course granddaughter insisted they had more, just not the color she wanted.  So I picked out my shade instead. Don't worry; she found plenty more for me to buy.  It seems the shampoo and conditioner we have at home isn't as good as what they sell at Walgreens.  And the entire time we were there, younger granddaughter had to touch pretty much everything she saw, and 75% of those items were dropped on the floor at least once (no, she isn't a toddler--she's nine).  To say I was about to lose it is a gross understatement.

It gets better.

I took my armload of merchandise to the register.  The clerk started ringing it all up, but he was having trouble with the coupon.  He called the manager, who looked young enough to be my grandson.  Manager Boy whipped out another coupon to use as an example, then chastised me: "I can't take a coupon unless it has a barcode like this!"  He pointed to the standard style barcode as he hissed at me, and I couldn't argue because my coupon didn't have a code that looked like his.  It had several codes, just not the right kind.  He felt the need to repeat himself as I looked at my coupon in complete confusion.  By now there were several angry people in line behind me, so I just muttered "okay" and Manager Boy walked away.  He didn't say "I'm sorry, but that's store policy", or any of the other niceties that most managers would utter.  Maybe by the time he turns 18 he'll have learned some manners.  Some manager manners.

The cashier did apologize.  He already has manager manners and he's not even a manager.  I'm not sure he's even 18.

I also purchased some hair care products for myself because the sign said they were on sale 3-for-$10, with register rewards of $5.  Seemed like a sweet deal to me.  Do you think I got my register rewards?  Of course not.  Do you think I noticed before I got home?  Of course not.

I plan to return the hair care products because that was the final straw for me.  I expect the cashier will accuse me of trying to return the qualifying purchases and keep the register rewards for myself.  Because as far as Walgreens is concerned, I'm out to overthrow world order one box of stolen haircolor at a time.  Stealing register rewards is my backup plan.

So after this ordeal I decided to calm myself with a bottle of wine.  (And yes, I plan to drink it all.)  After dropping the kids off at home with my husband (let them be his problem for a while), I headed to the nearest grocery store and made my selection (the cheapest, biggest bottle I could find).  The cashier boy thought it would be fun to toy with an old lady like a cat bounces around a helpless mouse.  "I might have to see your ID 'cause I'm not sure you're 21!", he said, thinking he's the only child who's ever come up with such a clever line.  If you think I climbed over the conveyer belt and took him down, well, I'll admit I thought about it.  But that must remain only a fantasy.  I can't risk getting banned from the store.  I can live without ever stepping into another Walgreens.  I can't live without a handy place to buy wine.


It's a cruel, cruel world.  But with a diabolical plan involving counterfeit haircolor coupons and stolen register rewards, I plan to change all that.

How Could I Forget to Pack That?

Keep looking...you never know what you'll find.

It's no secret--I carry lots of stuff in my purse.  Being a wife and mother requires me to bring along anything and everything that everyone else will certainly need.  I once had to see a neurologist for some mysterious symptoms.  He picked up my purse to move it out of the way and told me he wasn't surprised I was having numbness and tingling in my arms.

As we drove the ten or so hours to Disneyworld recently for a much-needed vacation, my granddaughter asked if I had a stapler.  A stapler.  Okay, I come prepared, but not that prepared.

Later in the week one of the girls asked if I had any tape (I'm probably better off not knowing why she needed that).  And then there was this gem: "Nana, do you have a hole puncher?"  Mind you, this was all while we were hundreds of miles from home.  At Disneyworld.  Not at a business conference.  Do I really look like an office supply store?  

Next vacation I'm turning the responsibility of packing the "essentials" over to someone else.  This office is closed.

A Card for Teresa

I made this card for my (slightly) older sister, Teresa.  Trying to come up with ideas for cards is always difficult for me.  When it comes to cards for Teresa, the concept is always the same:  giraffes.  It's the sentiment that I find incredibly difficult.

How do you wish a happy birthday to someone who no longer knows happiness?  As I've written before, Teresa suffered surgical complications many years ago that left her in a vegetative state.  I wish I could send her a fun, lighthearted card because that's the kind of sister she always was.  I want to kid her about growing older, and especially the fact that she's older than me.  But that isn't how we celebrate her birthday anymore.

I miss my big sister.  She's always in my heart and on my mind.  I'm sure she wishes I'd stop sending her cards with giraffes; she had packed away her collection of giraffe figurines long before her illness took her companionship from us.  But as I wrote inside her card, if she wants me to send something besides giraffes, she needs to tell me so.  God performs miracles.  I would love it if He'd send one Teresa's way.

On your birthday, Teresa, I'm wishing that you feel all the love we have for you.

Tough Times

As we sat in church on Sunday, Mark asked if I had the checkbook in my purse.  "I have the checkbook," I said, "but I doubt there's any money in the account."

He chuckled, and said, "Oh well, what's new?," and reached out to take the checkbook from me.

"You're not planning to write God a bad check, are you?"

"No," he answered, "I'm writing Him an IOU."

My Simple Craft Room...and finally, Pegboard!



Yes, this is the entire room.  It might be small, but it's all mine.



My tiny craft room is finally ready.  I'm not.  But hopefully soon I'll feel like crafting again. 

It's nice to be on the main level of the house.  I can keep an eye on the kids without constantly running up and down the stairs (which is a danger zone for me), and the view is better from here.

To save money, I tried to repurpose furniture and items from around the house as much as possible.  It isn't the fanciest room ever, but it fit into my current budget (which is just slightly above zero dollars), so it's all good.



I used inexpensive cafe rods to hang my punches.  Adding an extra center support made this work.



Some of the punches wanted to fall on my head, so I banished them to a basket on the table.





An old wall shelf holds my ink pads. 
I attached cup hooks on the underside to keep my blending tools handy.





Magnetic canisters hold buttons, brads and flowers. 
A few pieces of the children's artwork purchased from their school hang beside them to put a smile on my face (as long as I don't think about the dent they put in my wallet).




Bookshelves that were already in the room now hold most of my supplies.
My husband installed additional adjustable shelving between the two main units.




Baskets from my neglected closet now hold Sizzix dies. 
(Who has time for clothes anyway?)




More Sizzix dies. 
Now that I can find them, I'm more likely to use them.




Cuttlekids machine and dies; Sizzix boxed sets.
Again, I can reach them, therefore I'll use them.  Probably.



Photo boxes hold Cricut cartridge handbooks and overlays in alphabetic order.





Embossing folders and texture plates.  I threw away the outer packaging on most,
but kept the cardboard inserts for easy identification.



Large binders hold clear stamps grouped by theme




Stamp sets were slipped into page protectors. 
For the larger sets, I used staples to divide protectors into sections,
then cut with scissors to make pockets. 
I found this idea somewhere in cyberspace. Wish I could give credit,
but it has been longer than 5 minutes so the info has been deleted from my memory.





Small stamp sets (those you find for $1) are in baseball card protector pages. 
Post-It flags were used to separate and identify themed sections.





Wire towers hold paper stacks.  Each pad is labeled for quick identification. 
I used S-hooks to hang Cricut mats along one side,
and I have over-the-cabinet-door wire baskets hanging on the other side to hold tools.



More paper storage and my teeny, tiny tv (at least I can hear the shows). 
Cricut cartridges and inks are in pull-out drawers.



Cricut cartridges are labeled with Post-It flags and kept in alphabetical order. 
I found these little green baskets at Big Lots a while back, 3-for-a-dollar.




Even though I didn't have a good spot for my spinner storage, I couldn't bear to part with it. 
It's perfect for Stickles, embossing powder and glitter.



Expandable bamboo storage trays made to organize utensil drawers were
hung from the wall to hold my mounted rubber stamps. 
 I attached picture hanging hardware to the back along one side of each
so that gravity would cause them to fully extend.





This long folding table was the work surface in my old space.  It now holds cardstock and other loose paper.  Underneath are plastic storage drawers, which hold various tools and supplies.




I decided to finally use some of my hoard of vinyl to dress up the walls. 
(Serenity is another dream of mine, right behind the desire for pegboard. 
Hey, that happened, so maybe I'll find serenity some day, too.)



Vinyl Butterflies. 
(My mind is thinking, "I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away..."...Yep, some day.)




Birds adorn my favorite wall...my pegboard wall, that is.  More thoughts of taking flight.




Love these little pegboard baskets I found at Home Depot!




I used an old lipstick holder to keep my mini misters upright.  This is why I can't throw anything away.



I cut strips of foam and glued them inside the squares to hold the mini misters securely.




An old door shelf unit mounted to the wall holds rolls of ribbon.  My husband advised me that since it's full, there would be no reason to buy more ribbon.  He has his dreams, too.




This storage case is perfect for my Sizzix paddle punches. 
And now that it's within easy reach on my shelves, I might actually use them.





A separate zippered compartment in the storage case holds the hammer and mat for the paddle punches.



And the dream that started it all...A wall of pegboard.



It might not be the most beautiful craft room, but it's functional.  At least, I think it will be.  I haven't actually made anything in there yet.  Mostly I sit and stare at the awesomeness of my pegboard.





Lost in a Digital World

I spent countless hours over the past several days uploading hundreds of photos to a photo printing service, all with a less-than-reliable internet connection.  Talk about frustration.  My plan had been to take a closer look at the pictures before I ordered the prints, and weed out the duplicates (and all the ones of me).  But I kept losing my connection (to the internet, not to reality.  Yet.)  So I threw my hands up (figuratively) and said "screw it" (...to myself...out loud.  Maybe my connection to reality is as weak as my internet connection after all.)  I decided to just order a copy of everything and sort through it later.  After all, the first 500 prints were only a penny each.  I could afford that.  Well, almost.

At checkout, I saw the astronomical shipping cost.  Maybe I should take a second look at all those photos.  So I painstaking sorted through my shopping cart, choosing only the pictures I really wanted.  My shoulders ached.  My eyes were tired.  I hadn't even had my morning coffee.  And then I lost my connection.  Again, only to the internet.  Reality was still all too real.  All my efforts were in vain.  None of my changes were saved.

I've decided to do what the young people do.  Forget paying for photo prints. That's for chumps anyway.    I'll just keep a digital copy of all my photos on my computer the way God intended.  Until my hard drive crashes and I lose everything.  Including my sanity.

I hate technology.

Pegboard Envy

I'm not sure what to think.  My husband has been way too involved in my scraproom transformation.  All coinciding with his renewed interest in my life insurance policy.  I haven't made the connection yet, but there's something goin' on...

I've been complaining about my craft room since the day it was created.  Although the room was fairly large, it had slanted walls.  You'd be surprised how much space you lose that way.  And I shared the room with a very large desk, a large television, and two giant pieces of exercise equipment.   Once I started getting serious about buying (and storing) supplies, there really ceased to be any space left in which to actually craft.  I've totally redesigned the space several times, which says a lot about the lack of functionality since I've only been there a couple of years.

From the moment we moved into our house twenty years ago, we've had this small room on the main level which serves no real purpose.  It was intended to be a guest bedroom, but our builder screwed up the floor plan and the room ended up too small and with no closet.  A wasted space.  I wanted to turn it into a giant closet so I could continue to collect clothes, but closets tend to add little to a home's resale value unless attached to a large bedroom.  So I've mostly used it as an office.  Or more precisely (since I'm no longer earning a living), a room with a computer.  Then a few years ago when I realized our granddaughters were going to be living here permanently, I turned it into a nice space for them to do homework, art projects, or spend time on the computer.  Because it was near the main living space, I tried to decorate it as nicely as possible without spending much money.

Kids don't appreciate anything.  We had already spent a small fortune finishing our basement into a nice hangout for the girls, complete with a large-screen tv, home theater, game system, and tons of cabinets for storing all the other things kids think they need.  They rarely go down there.  Then I noticed they weren't spending much time in the computer room, either.  When they did go in there, they were trashing the place.  But more and more, they were spending every available moment in their bedrooms.  Enough's enough.  I decided to reclaim my life.  And my home.  I could have kicked their ungrateful backsides out of the large basement.  It has all the storage I could ever dream of.  And a big tv.  But being the loving grandmother I am (contrary to what you might have heard), I decided to move my craft room into the tiny computer room.  (Which, by the way, was my computer room before the grandkids were even born.  So there.)

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I have wanted pegboard since forever.  I see craft rooms with pegboard and my evil, sinful nature rears its ugly head.  I want your pegboard.  What makes you so special?

I have a short attention span and an even shorter memory, so the only way I can remember what I have is if I can see it.  Pegboard puts everything front and center.  And don't get me started on how unlikely I am to use something if I have to fight my way to get to it.  I need to reach and grab without much effort.  Yep, I'm a lazy crafter.

So my (sometimes) sweet husband convinced me to boot the kids out (of the room, not the entire house) and move my craft space to the main level.  Almost as soon as the decision was made, he was installing a wall of pegboard.  He seemed so very eager to do this for me.  A little too eager.  Now that I think about it, maybe I should see just how securely that heavy pegboard is mounted...

Giraffe Card

My big sister and I were always close.  She didn't have a choice.  We were only 13 months apart, and I followed her everywhere.  Eleven years ago this month she suffered a post-surgical infection, which left her in a persistent vegetative state.  I don't get to visit her very often since we're hundreds of miles apart, so I try to send cards from time to time.  I don't know if she is aware of her surroundings, but just in case, I want her to know I love her and that she is always on my mind.  She collected giraffe figurines for many years, so I usually include a giraffe on each of her cards.

This card was my first attempt at coloring a stamped image.  It was so relaxing to channel my inner child!  I can see myself spending a lot of time practicing this technique in the future.

And I can't conclude this post without saying how very much I appreciate my younger sisters for always being there for Teresa.  Even though they have families and lead busy lives, they visit her in the nursing home regularly and make sure she is well cared for.  They are my heros.  And hers.

Anniversary Card

Sometimes I can't help myself.  I'll feel a compulsion to make something besides trouble. 

This card was for my daughter and son-in-law on their second anniversary.  I really wanted to make a card with a moveable wheel--you know, the kind you buy for a child that allows you to change the wheel to reflect the correct age.  I figured if I stamped "Happy Anniversary" and added a wheel with "2nd, 3rd, 4th", etc., I wouldn't need to make another card for several years.  (And that's how long it seems to take me to think up an idea when I need to design a card.)

But I have a short attention span, so this is what I ended up with.  I used a Tim Holtz/Sizzix die (Ornamentals, I think) for the shape, and added the lock and key from the Tim Holtz/Sizzix Movers and Shapers line, which I heat-embossed to give the appearance of metal.  I used a lot of kraft paper to keep it from looking too girly (after all, it really was for both of them).

Thanks for looking!

Cause for Celebration

According to the calendar, it was my granddaughter's 13th birthday.  I'm beginning to believe it was actually my special day.

We sang a pretty regrettable rendition of "Happy Birthday", ate cake and opened presents (mainly consisting of what every teen wants--hard, cold cash). The child realized she now had enough money to buy what she had always dreamed of (or if not always, at least for the past few months): an IPod Touch.  Grandpa said he'd take everyone with him to make the purchase, and I could stay home and have time to myself.


I had spent the afternoon doing last-minute birthday shopping, baking cakes, whipping up frosting, and decorating for the celebration.  I was also smack in the middle of a mountain of laundry, a sink full of dirty dishes, and making hundreds of trips up and down stairs in the ill-timed process of moving the entire contents of one room to another.  I wasn't exactly relaxing, but with the house to myself  I could now complete my chores without constantly being interrupted and pulled in fifty different directions.

I'll take what I can get.  Happy birthday to me!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hallelujah!  The kids are back in school.  Just the way God intended.

Try not to judge me too harshly for my uncontained excitement.  These are my grandkids.   My youngest child is 27.  I should be resting on a beach somewhere, not raising children for the 33rd consecutive year.  I'm tired.  I'm cranky.  I'm menopausal.

The past few months have claimed the last scraps of my sanity.  Yes, some stay-at-home moms/grandmoms look forward to summer.  I'm not one of them.  I do enjoy not having to struggle to get the kids out of bed at a reasonable hour.  And not fighting about homework is nice.  But having absolutely no time to myself makes me long for the first day of school.  Sure, I love these children.  Can't I love them from afar?  At least for a few hours a day?

This year has been especially difficult.  For various reasons we weren't able to take a vacation.  I really needed a vacation.  It's been the summer from hell.  I just wanted a chance to breath.

Chatty Cathy, age nine, has been following me around since June, unable to stop talking. Somewhere in a medical journal there must be a name for this disorder.  All I know is:  I can't take it any longer.  I love her dearly.  But if I were to go deaf tomorrow, it wouldn't be soon enough.

Lovesick Lucy, age 13, cycles from not speaking to me at all, yelling at me about some perceived injustice, or talking my ears off about the latest object of her affection.  I love her with all my heart.  But there's only room for one hormonal crazy woman in this house.  And I was here first.

I can't find it in the book of Genesis in my Bible, but I'm pretty sure somewhere in those first six days, God created school.