Calling it Quits
Up until this past weekend, I had three scrapbooks for just 2 years of Evan's life and about a quarter of a book covering Madalyn's first weeks of life. The scales were a wee bit tipped. Not fair. And seeing as how Madalyn is the female, she will probably be the only one of them who cares to look at her scrapbook. SOOO when Shaun headed to Virginia and I headed to Ocala to give a shower for sweet Heather, I decided it was time. I would have to roll my sleeves up and become a scrapper once more... or at least long enough to complete the first two years of Madalyn's life.
That was Saturday. It's now Tuesday night and I'm only just approaching the 6 month point. My back hurts, my eyes are crossed, my fingers are raw from handling paper and tape, and what's more-- I'm BORED. So I've decided to just come out of the closet with it already: I HATE SCRAPBOOKING.
I'm never doing it again. Instead of accomplishing 2 years for M., I've shortened my goal to one year. Jack will be lucky to have a birth announcement, let alone an album. I'm not one of those people who does well with an ongoing project... I'm all or nothing, cut-to-the-chase, thorough or not-at-all.
When I went to Griffin's to grab some more rolls of 6 dollar tape tabs I noticed two things: a) I could make a fortune off selling scrapbook accessories and charging 50 cents for a piece of paper shaped like a flower the size of a quarter AND b) I've changed from who I used to be and will never be that other person AGAIN.
Then the girl at checkout went on and on and on about how the suitcase organizer for Professional Scrappers (aka crazy people, or people who want to be crazy) was the best purchase of her life. Let me repeat that-
Of. Her. Life.
That must have been the moment- right then when those three words fell from her lips- where time stood still and every noise around me was sucked into some sort of vacuum while my brain processed this information in slow-motion...
The best purchase of my life was my thousand-dollar mattress (not much more than Griffin's featured organizer,) and my mattress could make a twice-broken back feel new again. It's made by Simmons Beauty Rest and called "granite," and when Shaun and I- newly weds- lay side by side in the store on it, staring at each other in evaluation until I announced it was the one, the sales boy whispered, "Are you sure? That's the one lots of elderly people buy..."
That was all I needed to hear- I was sure. He'd sealed the deal unknowingly.
And if our bed wasn't the purchase of my life, then it must've been our double stroller; the one with the now-bent wheel from when Shaun tried three times to run over it with the car after taking Madalyn to the hospital for x-rays, back when a man across the parking lot ran towards him yelling and thinking there was actual baby in the stroller.
And right now, the purchase of my life could easily be some cheap salt and pepper shakers because we still haven't unpacked ours since we moved about a year ago... or a new can opener as the handle on mine is splintering. And I would sure LOVE a new computer, (which officially makes me the happy wife of a computer nerd.) But a SCRAPBOOK ORGANIZER SUITCASE?!
Over. My. Dead. Body.
You couldn't pay me to take one home in my car. And if someone gave it to me as a gift I think I'd cry... or yell. One of the two.
To think just two Christmas's ago Shaun gave me a gift certificate to the local Jacksonville scrapbook store and I LOVED it. What's worse, I SPENT IT. ON PAPER. And tape... and little sparkly things... and stickers...
And now for the real confession- the worst part of it all- last night I dreamt I was scrapbooking. ALL NIGHT LONG. Torture! Torture, torture!!
It's like the time I dreamt I was doing laundry all night... only worse. What happened to the days I closed my eyes and was skiing a snow-powdered mountain in my sleep?? Oh- right- that was when I was a spoiled kid on vacation without any responsibility...
Okay, shut up you're saying. And I HEAR you. And I don't blame you. But blogs are, after all, online confessionals and I NEED to confess for my own sanity that I don't have this scrapbooking thing down anymore, nor do I want to. In fact, if you hear of an arson-case or something gone awry at the next Scrapbookers of America Convention... well let's just say that even if there's no suspect, the motive should be perfectly clear because I've laid it all out so nicely for you right here. On our family blog. You're welcome.
