I have a secret

This is my first post for Blissfully Domestic and a bit of an oxymoron at that. They call me the Undomestic Diva in the Blogosphere. One would not think that I could be as undomesticated as I am and still have the skillz (the ‘z’ making me automatically cool) of a jumper queen. I may not be able to cook a decent dinner without causing some sort of explosion or small kitchen fire, but I am crafty. I may not know where we keep the vacuum or how to properly use it, but damn it, I have a craft table.

I'm Megan: one big ball of neurotic inconsistency. Nice to meet you.

And even though we've just barely met, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. No one knows this about me… until now, I suppose… except my very good friend, and even she's been sworn into secrecy via a forever-binding pinky swear and that little bit of blackmail I've been holding over her head for years.

I scrapbook.

Shhh! Don't tell anyone, because I'm what you would call a Closet Scrapbooker. I openly mock those crazy ladies who wheel their suitcases-o-12×12 paper everywhere and get together and have parties where they all Dotto and chalk and embellish. But the truth is, essentially, I am one of those crazy ladies (sans the get togethers, since that would ruin my much sought after anonymity).

But I've just gone and outed myself and I hope you'll still love me, despite my previous deception. I’m not normally a liar, just when it comes to scrapbooking and sexual escapades in the bedroom. But that’s it. 

I could leave it at that – wait, I should leave it at that – but I've got one more confession. And frankly, who doesn't love a little scandalous tidbit they can gossip about for days with their virtual friends?

I've made countless scrapbooks. My favorite being the first year of a child's life which is chock-full of milestones, firsts and favorites. I’ve made scrapbooks for Grandparents Day and Valentines, for end-of-the-year teacher gifts and 50^th anniversaries. But I’ve never scrapbooked a single thing for my own three boys.

Appalling right? A downright, malicious sin in the world of scrapbooking, right? Yep. That’s me. A crafty sinner.

The owner of our local scrapbooking store often makes fun of me when I come in to shop, buying inches of paper at a time, asking what exactly I’m doing with all of it since she’s yet to see a page from me. And while the obvious answer is that I am one in a genetically long line of hoarders, I just shrug and tell her to mind her business, ‘cause hey, I’m giving her business, aren’t I?

Frankly, the scrapbook store owner is happy with this… it’s actually progress in my world, being that I used to hot glue my photos to secure them in scrapbooks. But that was waaaaay back when (read: two weeks ago).

But I am now VOWING to do my children’s scrapbooks. And it’s a wee bit overwhelming. Three boys ages five, three and two and I’m a photographer IRL (in real life). So you could say, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

Follow along with me as I chronicle my adventures in scrapbooking as I take on the impossible. And even if you could care less what my pages look like or how much progress I’ve made, then just follow along so you can mock me when I hot glue Dotto my fingers together or misspell my own child’s name on a page or lie in the fetal position on the floor beneath my craft table. WHATEVER, I’m not picky. All I ask is that you hold me accountable. I work better under pressure.