My kitchen has reached overwhelming proportions.
The table is more than half full with Stuff (mostly papers, but also things).
I have routines. I <3 FlyLady to death, but I'm bad at keeping my paper of routines open in front of me constantly -- mostly because I don't have enough flat surface to set out the notebook. I have a timer, but it's usually being used to time certain urchins' Wii and computer times. I could borrow my mom's...but it's not mine and that (wrongly) annoys me.
I am lazy. Active, but lazy, because the things I'm doing, by the end of the day, don't seem to have added up to much.
This morning, the kids and I took recycling to the dump, bought pull-ups and forks at Walmart, put money in my Pampered Chef account so I can start up my website again (yay!), and then went to the park for probably about half an hour (before I decided it was too cold to stay and Morgan got a nosebleed while warming up in the car). Those were productive things.
Then I come home to my weirdo sloppy kitchen, the one I want to start simple-ly transforming into a real farmhouse kitchen, and my insides go "urgablechsighdepressing" and all I want to do is play Mario.
Can you see me? I'm pulling on my cowgirl boots (that I own in some wonderful parallel universe) so that I have bootstraps to tug on. I'm swallowing my perfectionist pride and am heading over to borrow my mommy's timer.