whew...

I did it.

I've had this to-do task on my endless to-do list for ages. And I finally finished it. Mostly. The bulk of the work is done, and I'm happy as a clam, no matter how late I had to stay up to be able to put a big check-mark next to that one.

So, I designed another website. For a friend of Mimi's friend's mom. She's a part of this group that speaks at women's retreats and other events, and wanted me to design a website for their team. I think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I DO say so myself.

Check it out: friendsoftheheart.us.

And to answer your question, YES, I am a total nerd and do enjoy sitting in front of my computer for hours on end. It's my one connection to the outside world--my one way to feel productive outside my home.

Doesn't hurt that I'm getting paid for it, either. Can't wait to wash the mountains of laundry I have piling up in my living room with the new washer and dryer I'm going to buy with my nerdy website money.

Typity type + nerdity nerd = no longer wearing the same outfit five days in a row. Marty's nostrils will thank me.

dishpan hands...

I can picture it now.

I'm on my deathbed, saying my goodbyes, and all I can think about is how much of my life was spent doing the dishes.

For some reason, dishes are the one household chore I have the hardest time keeping up with. Which I don't understand, because it's also my favorite household chore. I find it really therapeutic to start with a kitchen full of grossness, and end with a running dishwasher and a shining, sparkly sink. I've done a lot of my best thinking while standing over the soap suds with my blue rubber gloves on.

I guess it's finding the time to devote to them that I struggle with. Because I have to wait until my son is either napping or in his high chair and immobile--both of which are few and far between. And who wants to spend their only free time during the day cleaning? I know I don't. The second my son is sleeping, I'm sitting my butt down on the couch for some quality time with a huge bowl of mac n' cheese and The Tyra Show.

Anyway, I've tried doing the dishes while little Marty is playing in the other room. I've even tried the "stick your kid in front of the TV to distract him and buy yourself some time" trick.

But the second I open the dishwasher, he's crawling into the kitchen to check things out. Then he's climbing onto the dishwasher door or pulling the bottom rack completely out. I've had myself a few minor heart attacks over it.

So why don't I just do the dishes as they're dirtied? Clean them off and put them right in the dishwasher to save myself the trouble of trying to find a couple hours-worth of non-baby time? Well, in our house, it's my job to load the dishwasher, and Marty's job to unload it. I'm not a big fan of putting the dishes away, but I can wash and rinse with the best of them. So if there's a batch of clean dishes ready to be reloaded into our cabinets, I'll leave them there for Marty to take care of. Until he does, dishes pile up in the sink because, oh bummer, there's no room in the dishwasher. And I'm usually too stubborn to do his job and mine.

Because when I do, when I unload and reload and unload and reload, I find myself resenting the concept of dishes in general. Take yesterday for example. I managed to find myself some dish time, and ended up spending hours and hours getting things tidied up. And while I enjoyed the process, the fact that it took up most of my day was not so fun. "What did you do today, Becky?" And I'd reply, "The dishes." It doesn't bode well for my claim that being a stay-at-home mom is just as exciting as any other job.

I guess I'm trying to say that if you come over and find a mountain of nasty in my kitchen sink, kindly ignore it. Look the other way. Or hey, strap on those blue rubber gloves and have a go. You'll be the one I think of on my deathbed, thankful that a few minutes of my life of dish washing was spent watching someone else tackle my mess.

the cookie curse is back...

I have officially taken on the "cookie curse".

My oatmeal cookies usually turn out perfectly, and taste like the heaven that they are. I'm even a little bit famous for them.

But the other night, while my family was in town and I thought it would be fun to make a batch, I was shocked and horrified at the cookie nightmare that ensued. Round, plump, chewy morsels were replaced by flat, crumbly discs. My excuse was that it was the first time I had tried making them in a gas oven. Our landlord blessed us with a beautiful new oven after the old one caught on fire, but it just doesn't make my cookies the same way. Though my husband was more than delighted when I told him he could have just "one" cookie before bed and I pulled this out of the oven:

Guess I'll just have to experiment with different temps and timing to get my cookies back to their beautiful selves. Beautiful and individual selves. That is, cookies that are actually cookies and not one giant glob of cinnamony oatmealy goo. I'll make batch after batch until they come out just right, and I can regain my "heavenly-oatmeal-cookies-maker" title.

Anyone want to do some taste testing?

dinner disappointments

Why is it that I can't freakin' get dinner on the table at a decent time? Insert picture of my empty dining room table here:

This past week we had friends over for dinner on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. And each of those days, I took the time to think through what we'd be serving so I'd know if a last-minute trip to Safeway was required. I even went so far as to put all the dinner components on the kitchen counter for easy access.

And yet, each of those three nights, I was still super embarrassed at how late dinner was put on the table! What is my problem? Our poor guests were probably sitting there starving as I slaved away in the kitchen, wondering why on earth I didn't start making dinner hours earlier.

Maybe it's because I haven't been feeling well lately. Or maybe it's because I don't want to shove food at people the second they walk through our front door. Maybe it's because I get distracted easily, and would rather spend my time socializing than cooking. Or maybe it's just because I'm lazy and suck at time management when it comes to the culinary arts (although I'm not very good at the culinary arts anyway).

I guess my warning to those of you who frequent the Moseley household is to eat a little snack before you come over. It may be a couple hours before the asparagus is served...

Hmmm. Maybe THAT's why our guests tonight had already had a protein shake and piece of pizza prior to their arrival. My reputation precedes me.

vacuum hair

I credit my sister-in-law with being the cleanest person EVER.

And truthfully, she's inspired me to vacuum on a more regular basis. I'm tired of walking around the house and groaning over the little tufts of cat hair and half-eaten Cheerios and threads that have separated themselves from my red bathroom rug and found their way into the living room. Seriously, when you have to wear flip-flops around the house to avoid getting your feet dirty, it's time to bust out the old vacuum. Dust it off and vacuum up the dust cloud created as a result!

Now, I'm certainly not going to do it daily like my sister-in-law does. I'm not THAT inspired. Maybe we'll take baby steps and start making it a weekly thing. Get a little crazy.

Anyway, I had one of these "moments of inspiration" just last Saturday. I started with the hallway, then moved into the baby's room. But for some reason, the usual powerful sucking-ness of my vacuum was...well...sucking. I had to go over the trouble spots way too many times for comfort. So I turned the vacuum off and flipped it over to see if I could figure out what the problem was. As if I'm some kind of vacuum maintenance expert.

But it was pretty obvious what was causing those soggy Cheerios to be barfed back onto the carpet. You know how hair gets wrapped around the vacuum brush? Well, there was so much hair I couldn't even SEE the brush. Goo.

So my quick little vacuuming sesh turned into a vacuuming afternoon as I spent almost an hour removing every single strand of hair that I could get my hands on.

Guess the moral of the story is that if I kept up with my housework, and actually maintained the overall cleanliness of our little abode instead of saving it all until I have a full head of hair hanging out inside my vacuum, cleaning wouldn't take as long when I got around to it.

So, in front of God and the three people that will read this, I hereby declare my vacuum my new friend. And implore it to come out and play more often. I promise I'll stop using the fact that my son is afraid of it as an excuse to leave it hidden.

But, friend, if ever you come over and find you miss seeing those little pieces of my bathroom rug all over the floor, I'm sure I'd be willing to skip for a week or two to accommodate you...