"I'd like a slice of elephant, smothered in Prozac, to go, please"

I think that's what I'll call my autobiography some day. It came to me while I was trying to decide what to have for breakfast before I start to eat my elephant in the basement. I haven't counted how many quilts I have down there--I really don't want to know. There's at least 15, and one lady has been waiting for hers since March. But the reason for this blog entry is because if I have all of you as witnesses, maybe I'll get them done faster.

I'm going to finish re-organizing my quilting room today so it's more user-friendly, and then hire a babysitter so I don't panic every time I turn around and Dillon is MIA. This week he got into my nail polish and painted all of his fingers and toes, and the bathroom floor. Yesterday he dumped out a box of spaghetti noodles, opened a container of maple syrup to stick his finger in and lick, and then he dumped a "bag" full of chocolate that was supposed to be for making "banana pops" (it melted in it's bag, just sitting on my counter, and then Dillon ripped it open and helped himself; picture Winne the Pooh eating his pot of honey--that's what Dillon looked like with his chocolate).

28 more days 'til school starts...