Talent

Hard: Trying to cut the hair of a squirming, incapable of sitting still and facing forward five-year-old who DEMANDED that it be done today.

Harder: Trying to do so while a whiny, energetic three-year-old is quite literally climbing all over you, not to mention trying to "help" you with the scissors every time you have to put them down.

Hardest: Doing all of this while JUGGLING FLAMING BRUSHES OF DOOM!

So far I'm only at the Harder level, but I'm working toward Hardest.

In other news, I have officially decided that this funk I've been in for the last nine or ten months needs to be over. It's always hard getting out of these things, though. I've written it a break-up letter. I should probably just do it in person, but confrontation can be so awkward.

Dear Funk,

You've been my constant companion for these last several months. I'd like to say we've had some good times together, but let's face it, we're a bad match. You make me grouchy and tired. You sap my creative energy. You make me short tempered with my beautiful kids and awesome hubby.

Most of all, I'm just tired and bored of you and we're done. I'm sorry. Go find yourself a Charlie Brown type, because we're not a good couple.

Warmest regards--well, actually, GET LOST.

--Kiersten

So, newly funk-free (but totally funkalicious) me has to go finish cleaning. Because that's what funkalicious people do. Also, I may need to grow a goatee, but that'll take a while.