Welcome, from the Certifiable Curator

Updated: Sep 5

About Me:





THIS VERY POST is the reason I have waited so long to start a blog. How do I introduce you to me and make you want to come back week after week? I don't want to come across like Preachy Polly Perfect, because I'm nothing but a spicy mess! I've been told for over ten years I should write this blog... Why? Probably because I'm FUNNY, creative, talented, and a moderately good story teller. I don't mind sharing my mistakes so hopefully, others will learn from them. I can't talk myself up as much as I love self-deprecating humor and sarcasm, a HUGE dose of reality, mixed with a whole lot of Jesus loves EVEN me, thankfully. My kids do goofy things which I find infuriating and hilarious, and I like to share that with others to make people laugh, and also let others know that they're not alone when their kids act like knuckleheads as mine often do. Occasionally I share bits of my testimony, which is wrought with bad choices, heartache, loss, hopelessness, and moves onto salvation, healing, acceptance and peace with who I am. I am deeply flawed, and mercilessly forgiven. If can pass along a tidbit it's this: Don't be afraid to look stupid trying new things. Don't be afraid to say what you mean, but KNOW WHY you mean it and be ready to defend it. (1 Peter 3:15) Don't be afraid to offer up suggestions to make life easier for others... that's why we're here - to support and give comfort to one another. If another person rejects your suggestion, it's okay. They're welcome to learn the hard way. [insert maniacal laughter here]

As I stumble along, publicly proclaiming my thoughts and opinions, remember that I'm human. I eat junk food, I get fat and lose weight, I feed my kids frozen burritos and Pop Tarts, I say too many bad words, I go toe to toe with my nosy homeowner's association, and I spend way too much time ordering from Amazon. I measure once and cut twice sometimes. I just want to make lots of messes in the garage... The kind my husband will grumble about as he drags his bag over spilled screws and dropped nail guns when he comes home from a trip. (In my defense, he DOES leave me alone for days on end. What did he expect me to do?)

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