The middle child's room is finito. Half of my office is cleaned out. The suitcases have been brought out. I bought travel sickness medicine, snacks, batteries, trashy magazines, gum, bottled water and a gianormous bottle of Advil for the flight. Most of the 439 loads of laundry are finished and I only went through two bottles of wine.
Snaps for me!
I had L. (she of the Moms Gone Wild: Reno fame) over on Friday night and we stayed up until 1:45 am drinking and cleaning our little Chardonnay-soaked brains out. We told many anecdotes at our husbands' expense and only once spread any gossip about people we know.
But today? Today I've done nada. I'm supposed to be finishing the removal of my many, many, many magazines from my office and moving my bookcases, but I. CAN'T. SEEM. TO. DO IT. Do you people know how many magazines I have here? Let's just say that I have counted so far 39 IKEA magazine boxes and they have OH, I don't know, 10-12 issues in each. The recycling guys are going to be very annoyed with me come Thursday. (But I won't be here! HAHAHAHA! Suckers!)
As a writer, I've been keeping these mags for research, but frankly, I have too many. Many of them I haven't looked at since 1999, so out they go. (The husband claims he could have retired from all the moola spent on periodicals in this house. The ninny.)
Guess what else I found whilst cleaning the office? Postcards! Many, many postcards from February when we were last in FL. All addressed to my peeps like Lil Miss, Mme. Paquin, Mme. Rubies, Sporty and my mother. See? I was thinking of you, I just couldn't find a mailbox.
Yeah, that's it.
Anyway, I'm going to send them THIS time because, honestly, the message won't have changed!*
The weather here is great. The kids are having a ball and my feet are KILLING me. Mickey says HI! BTW, there are a kazillion Brits here. They all have new tennis shoes and really nice sunburns! Hope you are well...
Let's Give Me Something to Complain about
The eldest boy bought himself an electric guitar and amp a few weeks ago. Now all I hear is Down on the Corner, Ode to Joy, and endless Nirvana tunes. Now I know why Kurt killed himself. Because the constant repetition of his songs is making ME want to down some Valium and drive off into the sunset. GAH. There are only SO many times you should have to listen to Come As You Are. Worse yet, is that he's set up the blasted thing in the LIVING ROOM because his room(my office) isn't finished yet. And it's not finished because I'm sitting here whining to the Dear Internet instead of vacuuming up the spider and bits o' paper.
It's a total nightmare. Welcome to my life.
OH! I must go and look for my bathing suit, paint my toenails and give myself a Toni home perm. (Kidding!)
Tommorrow the packing and painting commences and then ZOOM! Tuesday morn we leave. I may be mentally unstable and have a Tourrette's-like twitch by then, but we'll be off!
*Send me your snail mail and MAYBE I'll send you a postcard! You may just get lucky!