Jenny On the Spot

I sit inside - cramming down a chocolate chip cookie after dinner.

It is second-rate, at best, but I eat it anyway.

I eat it as an act of comfort, and act of escape… an act of sanity.

My knees touch as my feet are placed wide apart.

I feel vunerable… like a knobby kneed child…

‘xceptin’ the fact there ain’t nothing knobby about these knees.

My shoulders are hunched…

Kids - The Whole World; Mom - 0

From my seat on the step stool I see:

Finger prints on my black cabinets.

Yes, black cabinets are super-hip, in a “shows everything” kind of way.

Listen to the voice of reason: choose cabinets that most resemble the dirt/clay/mud that is

indigenous to your geographic location… and

don’t bear children that have fingers. Just sayin’.

Inside the pantry I see this:

No magnets allowed on my fridge - no! Scratchy, scratchy…

All magnets, papers and any documents that remind me I am a failure as a mother…

they go in the pantry.

I turn my head to find:

My plastic containers. Hmmm… that’s what the inside of my head looks like…

Chaos. Empty. Assorted. Mismatched. Yet, somehow contained.

And to the right I see this lovely example of my tendency to “stash and dash”:

Happy Earth Day. I apologize for my landfill bound coffee cups.

You encourage, “Look up, Jenny - things will get better”…

Golly, a burned out pantry light. Grrrrreat for a room with no windows.

The hope:

The best party of my pantry. My most favorite part of my house - becuase the idea was all mine.

It was genius, inspired, and gives character to a house full of characters…

That thar hole leads to my mudroom - which leads to the detached garage…

This means when I bring in groceries

(if the opening is clear)

I can place them right into the pantry instead of hauling them through the mudroom,

through the laundry room, through a hallway into the kitchen…

and THEN into the pantry.

Yes.Genius. I know. You may touch me.

OK, just touch your screen. That should suffice.

</dramatics>