The bits and bobs of daily life you hold with great finesse,
the pieces of my sanity nestled amongst the underpants.
When uprooting one's life should you envisage,
try to account for all of the baggage.
Should tempers and nostrils begin to flare... well, it just gets more pathetic as the verses go on. There are loads of rhymes for flare, but it's nearly midnight and I'm trying to get a jump on my "pre-posting".
Obviously Sunday's post was created in a state of frustration. Today I'm trying to be an oasis of calm. Hopefully lots of things will get done today. I type "today" as it's almost midnight, the cat is stalking me, and the mister has to be up for work in four hours, so really, the day has started before it's ended. I'd made a solemn promise to go to sleep the same day I woke up, but you can see the flaw in that plan. Timing issues. Waking up the same day you go to sleep isn't quite the same restful plan. Unless you're a Goth Chick who craves deep shadows under her eyes. I have those now, too. The next wave of allergy season is upon us. Soon I'll be drowning in my neti pot. That thing really does work, btw. Plus it has the added cache of totally creeping my kids out. It's the only 'alone time' I get in the bathroom.
Today is the last day home. I have plans to grab lunch out with the kids and one (or two?) of muh knittas, shop for the perfect eyeglass frames (smart, cute, and not too nerdy) and those elusive undergarments for the whole kid-caboodle, and sort out my knitting for the trip. I've started corn socks for one of the grandmas. As she was a farmer's wife, who helped run the shelling business as well for close to fifty years, I expect she'll get a kick out of "Maizy" socks. Type at y'all latah. C