Is there anything cuter than watching my son sit in a moving box, coloring the inside with markers?
Is there anything more annoying than having moving boxes in my house for reasons other than entertaining my son...that is, MOVING. While only moving a few miles away, I still have to pack things up and then (oh dread) unpack them. Blah.
Why do I feel like I am carrying around 50 extra pounds, not just 20? I am growing in places besides my belly, and while much curvier than before, it's obnoxious. You know all those pretty pregnant people? I'm not one of them. My face is fat.
Oh boy, my son just stood up with marker all over his face and hands...and Thomas pajamas. Time for a bath, after I finish this post.
I am 9000 words into my book. And I've hit the wall where I think my book is no good. I know where I want it to be, but I don't know how to get there. And maybe I've taken a detour because it's awful. BUT I have committed to finishing it, and so I will. (My sister did laugh out loud a few times while reading. That was a pick me up.)
And why does this housing market have to be so terrible? If it wasn't terrible then we could sell our house that we don't live in but rent out. My Latin Litigating Lover and I stayed up late last night drafting a lease. Now I am very well versed in contract language. So much that I kept trying to tell my husband things like "No, 'heretofore' sounds MUCH better than 'herein.'"
Now my son is climbing on me. Time to go.