Sticky notes

By now I'm probably the very last person to jump onto the post it train. Its by choice though, really. For the last 3 years (since my daughter was born), I've put forth my absolute best efforts in organization. Daily planners. To do lists. Talking to myself. Anything other than post its. I refused to get sucked into the world of sticky squares.

Why? Whats the big deal?

...I don't know.

I guess I remember going to my Mother's house, and seeing her old wooden desk drawer packed full of sticky notes that were probably purchased in bulk, and then looking around her house to see the place as a complete disaster. Christmas presents from 2 years ago still sitting unopened in their boxes, envelopes and bills collecting dust next to the filing cabinet. Not as if a tornado had ripped the place to shreds, just, not as organized as I thought her house probably could have been. I would watch her scribble something down (probably with a gel pen) onto a brightly colored block of paper, an idea or phone number, only for it to get swallowed whole by the stale living room air, rather than serving its purpose by clinging to something with all of its glue like potential, and later being the very reminder that it was intended to be.

Maybe it was me trying to avoid becoming my Mother, which is always a great big FAIL, or maybe it was me avoiding a wooden desk drawer overflowing with office supplies that I wouldn't use. Well whichever it was that I was trying to avoid, I avoided sticky notes like the plague.

But... just...

...lookit.

How could I hate such a delicate little poppy covered paper delight? How could I turn my nose up at something so refreshing?

Actually, to be honest, I fell victim to the sticky note a few weeks ago. I don't know what triggered my change of mind, but one day I picked up a stack at the store, and threw it into the cart. I didn't allow myself to over think it like I normally do, I just let them fall from my fingertips, and proceeded to the checkout line. By the time they were being scanned, I was distracted by screaming children, scraping the insides of my memory for the pin number to my debit card.

And now, sticky notes... are... everywhere.

There are two resting directly to my left, stuck happily to the front of the computer, reminding me about a future birthday, and how I want to type up a blog about both mine and my husband's adventures shopping for mobile homes with our parents. My garage is lined with them, since we used them as price tags for our sale last weekend. The desk side garbage is sporting multiple crumpled up balls of sticky note has-been's. I'm officially obsessed.

While searching online for pretty sticky squares (like I could afford to spend even a penny on anything other than diapers or the car payment), I found a cute little shop stocked with inviting colors and dainty patterned papers.

MichelleBrusegaard.


I can't help myself when it comes to postcards. I want to buy them. I want to own them. I want to frame them. I want to send them. I want to write on them. I want to make them. I want to trade them. They're half the cost of sending out a greeting, and twice the fun.



I could completely lose myself in her Etsy shop.

Unless maybe I use a sticky note to remind myself how to find my way back out again...