If You Liked It Than You Shoulda Put A Ring On It

Other than having "Single Ladies" stuck in my head (why?!?), my day has been most unblogworthy. Not that you care if I have a silly song stuck in my head. I guess that's what happens when you don't listen to your normal radio station in the morning.
Obviously not following the usual morning routine throws everything out of whack.
No offense to Beyonce or anything. I'm sure she's a very lovely person, but I find that song a little grating on the nerves.

Everyone and their mother, or more accurately, two people, tried to sell me things today. I can't even dry my hair at the gym or go to the grocery store for bananas without being accosted by smooth talking solicitors.
I got roped into one and promised to peruse the web site of another.

And now it's June. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around that one.
Our first year here in Virginia has flown by. For the most part, that's not good because the quicker times flies, the more quickly I'll grow older. Honestly, I'm not a fan of aging.
I so wish I could rewind the clock and be 24 again. Turning 30 hit me really very hard and most unfortunately, 33 is only five months away. I remember trying my very best to avoid my 30th birthday, mostly because I felt like I did not enjoy my twenties nearly enough and I wasn't ready to enter another decade of wasted moments. I spent way too much time worrying and focusing on the next step without taking the time to enjoy the everyday things. You'd think that perhaps I've learned my lesson and am striving to enjoy daily life now that I'm in my 30s. Um, I'm not. That would be SO unlike me.

Besides the usual daily frets, sickness, injury, car trouble, the economy, crazy dictators, socialism, fingerprints on the storm door, running out of bananas, your 30s bring introduce a whole laundry list of new trials.
Cellulite. Wrinkles. Slower metabolism. Creepy unwanted facial hair.

Gone are the days when you can say, "I'm 21, I'll worry about ______ when I'm in my 30s."

It's my own fault and I know it.
I'm quite certain I'll be one of those people on my deathbed, beating myself up for not doing things differently. Everyone has regrets, but I'm fearful that I'll live my whole life without fully enjoying it.
Sure, I am thankful to be alive and I enjoy tidbits here and there. Some days are wonderfully smooth and joyful.
But I rarely sit back and just enjoy living.
There is always something holding me back. Something in the future to focus on. Something clouding the contentment part of my brain.
And again, it's all my fault.
But will I do something about it? THAT is the big question.

I need my brain re-wired.
Or a lobotomy.

Nah, that would require having my head shaved. I may not know much, but I'm really quite certain that a bald spot would not help me on my quest for finding peace, joy and contentment.
After all, good hair is a major component of the happy life equation.


Gah, I'm such a Debbie Downer.

I checked out "Baking From My Home To Yours" by Dorie Greenspan and have been fervently copying down the recipes. I have a very archaic recipe system that involves 5x8 index cards and an ultra fine point sharpie pen. No exceptions. No substitutions.
Even though I'm sure I have some sort of recipe program on the computer, I like to hand write them and keep them in a box in my kitchen.
I probably have a stack of a hundred different baking recipes I'd like to try. I'll work my way through them slowly, but butter aint cheap and Craig's co workers might not want to gain twenty pounds.
Yesterday I baked a copy cat recipe of Starbuck's Cranberry Bliss Bars. I don't think I've ever had an original, but the copy cat version is really tasty. Craig called with a positive report from my official taste testers, so I'm happy. I'm also happy that the bars are out of my sight. I'm a sucker for anything with frosting.
A sucker with no self control.

Speaking of suckers, this afternoon I had to conduct a "proper speak for a seven year old" lesson with Caroline.
I told her that "see ya later suckaz" are inappropriate words that should not come out of a sweet girl's mouth.

I give up.
She's growing up much faster than I imagined and I'm not sure I'm capable of keeping up.

Suddenly I find myself nostalgic for blow out diapers and spit up down my neck.