Permission Granted

So here we go. The maiden voyage of Sensible Absurdity. I've been pondering the subject of my first post for days (okay weeks) and well, have decided on potatoes. Potatoes. You see, my life is something of a mess, but a planned mess. I'm the mother of two brilliantly beautiful girls, ages 15 months and 2 months. Fifteen months. Two months. Say it out loud. Think about the implications. I spend all day trying not to. And so, everyday provides itself with an abundance of topics to be discussed, dissected, and blogged. But the first post, that's something. It should be special. And so it is.

This evening while preparing dinner (and by preparing I mean throwing chicken in the oven and cutting open a bag of Simply Potatoes to throw in a skillet--what can I say, I'm a culinary sage) I found directions that appealed to me, and would that I could contact the person who wrote them and have them direct my life. They read as follows:

Lightly Cover . . .
Heat . . .
Add . . .
Cook for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown turning potatoes every 3 to 4 minutes. Skillet should remain covered while cooking (except while turning potatoes).

Right. Thanks for that. Lest I stand at the stove with my covered skillet of diced potatoes with onion pondering the conundrum of how in the hell I was going to cook the other side of my Atkins nightmare without explicit permission. Should I beat the lid with my spatula or shake the whole thing with pot holders? Ah but, permission granted.

I want more. Permission's granted that is. You see I am starting this blog in a desperate attempt to preserve/maintain/retrieve some semblance of sanity. For it feels that I am indeed losing my mind. Quite literally. I spend 13 hours a day alone with two individuals who don't talk and who require my absolute undivided attention. All of the time. They tag team. One wakes up, eats, poops, gets rocked back to sleep and then the other awakens. And repeat. Oh, sometimes they are awake simultaneously, but alas that is a post for another day. I love my curmudgeons with my whole person. But sometimes, I simply need a permission granted. I need some of myself back. And so I'm going to write. Maybe people will read, and maybe they won't. It really isn't about that. It's about me. Me, me, me. As the rest of my life really isn't.

I'm not telling anyone that I know about this, because I'm really just not looking for judgment right now. And so it begins, permission granted to lift the lid off the pot to flip my potatoes. Should be interesting.