Oh, the capricious nature of dreams. I dreamed about David Beckham last night. What’s up with that? I wasn’t thinking about him when I went to bed. I hadn’t read an article about him or his perpetually-unsmiling wife (could someone pass her the memo re: being “famous” doesn’t mean looking sour-faced). Hadn’t seen him on a t.v. show. He’s never inspired me to fashion one of my hero’s after him. But apparently he was somewhere in my psyche because he popped up. He’s welcome to drop in anytime.:twisted: Honestly, he was gorgeous and very sexy and a nice guy. I have no clue whether he is in real life, but does it really matter?

Not had enough of my pointless, rambling musings? Then drop by Soapbox Queens. I’m blogging there today too.:mrgreen:

The project bug bit me yesterday and I decided I’d recover my dining room chair seats. I’ve had the material for at least four years. It’s been sitting in the closet in my guest bedroom because I was afraid to cut the material — thought I might goof it up but after five years, I decided nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I enlist Girl’s help. She’s excited about this project.

“How long do you think it will take us to do the six chairs, Mom?”

“An hour and a half. Maybe two.” I can be so naive.:bat:

We needed a staple gun, a screw driver, and a pair of scissors. Easy enough. I knew exactly where the screwdriver and scissors were. Check. Now the staple gun. I went down to the storage building where seldom-used tools are kept. Didn’t see it. Checked at the office where my DH sometimes keeps things. Didn’t see it. Went to Wal-mart. Had staple gun and staples in hand when DH says, “Oh, that’s what you wanted. There’s an electric one in the storage building hanging on the pegboard. Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted?” I did. Three times. But he was watching Horsepower t.v. at the time.:wallbash::fryingpan:

I put back the staple gun but bought the staples. Went home. Back down to storage building. Electric stapler is hanging on the pegboard.:cooldance: Finally. I’m getting somewhere.

Nearly two hours later…we finally begin.

We cut the fabric, unscrew the first bottom and take it off the chair, grab the extension cord for the gun, connect it and start stapling. Four staples and it jams. Not wishing to shoot a staple into any of my body parts with the force of an electric current behind it, I unplug the staple gun to unjam it. Then plug it back in and get back to stretching and stapling new fabric on…until it jams after about six. It jams after every six staples or so. I am also discovering I have to put my not-inconsiderable-body-weight behind this to get the staple to go into the hard part of the chair all the way.

Unplug. Unjam. Ooops. Almost out of staples. Might as well load in the new ones from Wally World. Wrong effing size. They. Don’t. Fit. :cursing::wallbash:

Girl and I go to Home Depot. On a Sunday afternoon. Correct staples in hand, we head home.

I have one of six chairs refinished and a nasty blister on the lower part of my thumb from pushing down as I stapled.

I’m not looking to go into the furniture reupholstering business anytime soon.

People often say that motivation doesn’t last. Well, neither does bathing - that’s why we recommend it daily. - Zig Ziglar

:happy2::devil::thumbsup:

Psst. Hey! It’s Free Book Friday over at the Soapbox Queens. Pop over and put your name in the pot to win a free book from yours truly. Click here.

Girl had an interesting school assignment. She had to come up with a bag of tricks, which is ten items that illustrate her and her interest. It was harder than you might think to assemble ten things. It started me thinking what my bag of tricks would contain.

Book
Alphasmart (to represent computer)
CD
Stuffed animal dog and cat
Cell phone:lol:
Wine glass/beer mug
Athletic shoes
Fork and spoon (hey, I like good food, what can I say?)
A piece of jewelry (it is my weakness)
A family&friends sign

That’s mine.

What would go in your bag of tricks?

I’m “on” today at the Soapbox Queens. Stop by and say hi.:wave:

It’s the convergence of circumstances and situation.

I’ve always written Duets, Temptations or Blaze — none of which is exactly age-appropriate for kids. In fact, inappropriate has always been the buzz word in our house, “It’s inappropriate for children to read, because it’s written for adults.”

Girl is required to write a book report every 8 weeks for school — actually she had 3 to write over the summer which were due yesterday, the first day of school. Girl is increasingly drawn to books with romance in them and a hint of mystery. Girl’s Mommy has a Harlequin NASCAR book, The Rookie, which has the equivalent to a PG-rating.

So… she’s asked if she can read The Rookie for her book report. How cool/weird/freaky is that? 8O

Last night, however, she says, “You know, Mom, there’s that section of the report where you have to discuss the message the author is relaying in the story. You could help me out with that if I don’t quite get it, right?”

“Nope. No inside track, Missy.” (No pun intended) :devil:

“Mom!”

Now I’ve seen the kid read required books and some of them sucked her in and she only wanted to read to the next page and then there have been some that were like pulling teeth because she hated them. Uh…I hope my book falls into the former for her.

This is not working for me. School started back today and I already miss Girl even though she’s never up by 9:30 in the summer. But it’s the knowing that she won’t be home until 4. I know, I’m supposed to be relieved and eager to immerse myself, without interruptions, in this book but who am I going to have lunch with? Who’s here to chat with me? Laugh with me over something silly? Now I won’t even have to say, “If you play that Linkin Park song one more time I’m going to scream.”:fryingpan:

Guess I’ll get to my lonely work….

Yesterday was open house at Girl’s school. Ya know, the meet-n-greet where she finds out her schedule and who her teachers are. There was a poster on several of the walls in the hall concerning a brand new Drama Club this year.

One of Girl’s friends says to her mother, “Oh, Mom, can I please join the Drama Club? You know how good I am at being dramatic!”

This…from a pre-teen girl. Are there any of them that aren’t? Hysterically funny, no?

:happy2::happy2::happy2: