The hills are alive

Do you ever find yourself promising yourself that you will do something? I do it constantly. Just this morning I swore I would actually tackle the ironing piling up in my closet. I have had an almost violent aversion to ironing since working in a dry cleaners as a teenager. It was just so steamy and hot, and not in a good way. It was also burny. And sometimes people yelled at me. Including my brother in law, because I lost his shirt, but that is not my point. My point is that my ironing is still sitting in a pile on my closet floor, increasing it's wrinkle intensity as I type.

I also find myself promising me that I will no longer burst into song at random moments, especially in public. But, gosh darn it, what are you suppose to do when you are at the bank and you are standing in line with your little check book and the cashier gives you the strangest look (it's a Judd's song,for those of you with a slightly more narrow musical universe. Therefore, you must sing the above line with as much of a twang as possible). Now, these outbursts don't cause much alarm around my house, Charlie doesn't even look up from whatever he is doing when I burst into a musical number complete with choreography, and Mia just tries to sing louder than me. However, when you do this at the grocery store or library you mostly get frightened looks from old ladies who assume that you are high on crack. So, that is another personal resolution, stop freaking out old ladies with my uncanny ability to find a song for every situation.

The other thing I vow to stop doing every night is preparing too much food for dinner. I blame this on my mother. As a child I grew up helping her make dinner for seven people (or nine if the missionaries are coming over). Now there are just three people in my home and one of them will only eat things that a) contain cheese, b) are pink, or c) a cookie. So, I end up with a huge storage container of whatever the main dish was stuck in the back of the fridge every night until I run out of plastic containers and realize that some of my leftovers have been sitting in the dark recesses of my fridge for a month. So I clean out my fridge, making gagging sounds the whole time. Also, the storage containers are usually too scary for me to deal with so I just throw them away and buy new ones. This has to stop, I vow every night to make it stop. Yet somehow, the next evening I end up with enough food to feed seven hungry adults, again.

So, if any of you are in my neighborhood 'round about six o'clock, stop on by for dinner, I probably have plenty to go around. Also, there will probably be a floor show including me singing about whatever the side dish is and Mia singing her abc's at the top of her lungs. Good times.