I'm building at the moment.
No, before you start fantasising, I'm not in cut-off denim dungarees, mixing concrete and slapping it onto bricks whilst sporting a hard-hat.
I'm building in my brain.
At the moment I like to imagine the neural pathways in my brain to resemble spaghetti junction. Or, worse, spaghetti junction during major roadworks... after an earthquake... during which a sink-hole opened up swallowing a large section of roadway.
The result? I'm a bit of a chaotic, fly-by-the-seat of my pants, kick-it-under-the-couch kind of mum. But deep inside, nestling inside all the crazy, there's an organised person waiting to get out.
A happy person, with a tidy house and a tidy mind.
Think you're stuck with the brain you've got? Wrong.
But you've got to be prepared to work at change.
For the last 12 months or so, I've dug myself out of a mire of neuroticism... now it's time to start building something worthwhile.
Being happy doesn't just come out of nowhere, it's something you have to work at.
Until your thoughts don't autopilot themselves through the mess of spaghetti junction and travel along the new modern bypass instead.
For a while, you have to force them along the new road - it's badly built, looks vulnerable. It's so much easier to take the old route. It's tiring. It's demoralising.
But then, after a while - like a muscle being flexed - the road gets stronger and your car doesn't have to work to stay on it. Suddenly you find that you're driving along the better road without even having to think about it.
I'm reading a book on decluttering which has given me a six month target to get rid of 50% of my stuff... so look out for for sale ads. And following another programme that should sort out my bad mental habits.
And you know what, for the first time in a long while, although I can see the road ahead and know there's further to go - I can also see that the destination is obtainable.
So... one ... two ... three and flex!
On a different note, I walked past the boys' room this morning to see Joe, naked from the waist down and happily peeing in a great arc onto the back of Timmy's bedframe.
"Joe! What are you DOING?!" I gasped.
"Timmy got a water cannon..." came the reply.
Which, in its own messed-up little way, was true.