Packing Schmacking . . .

it just makes me want to spit.

I packed and packed and packed this morning. Fourteen boxes total - doesn't seem like a lot and you can't really tell by looking around that I did anything except the empty book shelf and all the boxes but still. oh, and my aching back. ugh. This is going to take a very long time and I really don't want to do it. Can I cry now?

Pssssssssssst!

Why do I want to move? I know, I know, I remember now . . . sigh . . . can't wait for a month from now, or so.

Anyone want to help?

I'm baaaaack . . .

So there is a story why I stopped posting here but it isn't worth telling. I ran into some critics that didn't understand so I stopped because, well I can't remember. And stopped because someone doesn't understand so totally isn't me so I am back. I have missed it so I am blogging my real thoughts once again.

Thought number one "Who cares what anyone thinks!"

So I am home alone on a Saturday night . . . surprise surprise. Well technically not alone. Claire is asleep and Hazel is snoring behind me and spreading her essence in a way only a lab can do. So read - husband not home, at work. I have been working on Christmas presents and avoiding packing. And I really want some alcohol. Not a lot, I don't like my tummy to feel icky but I can't help but think if I drank a little I might pack, but if I drink and pack I might not do the job too well . . . AND I always think I shouldn't drink if I am the only one home with the child. I hear this feeling or responsibility vanishes with two children. So here I am posting for the first time in six months and nothing witty to say. Maybe if I have a drink I would blog better . . . any thoughts?