Dirty Laundry

Sometimes I wash our dirty clothes, well... not really, I just shove them in the washing machine and push a button.... well, most of the time... You see, I got in a terrible disagreement with a washing machine the other night. Oh, what a tiff we had.

You see, there isn't a washing machine in our apartment. When I discovered there was no washing machine I was immediately thrilled. Great. Naturally, the only way to get your clothes clean if you don't have a washing machine to use is to do it by hand. Literally. Now, some of you may do your laundry by hand all of the time and for that I applaud you, however, I am spoiled rotten. I do not. I have a pretty white washer and dryer. It makes the task of even getting laundry started a whole lot easier. When I find out I'm going to have to laundry by hand I think, this is great, I already know that it takes me to do one whole load of laundry when I'm at home. Two minutes to shove the clothes in the washing machine. One minute to push the start button. A second to close the door and walk away. Then I let it go until it beeps at me, at which point I try to go into the laundry room and stick the wet clothes in the dryer. Sometimes this works. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I hear the beep but I can't get to it right away, you know, I'm too busy sitting watching the Food Network or something and if I walk away for a second I will miss a vital ingredient and then I won't be able to fix the fancy feast they are making on tv. Not that I would fix it anyway... it costs way too much money to go buy all of those ingredients to only use one time. Nope. But still, I have to sit and watch as they mix all the ingredients together so it makes me feel like I am a good little wife and make new exciting foods for diner. Even though I don't.

So the clothes sit. Until I suddenly jump up and say, "O!" because I remember hearing the buzzer bing about an hour ago, and scurry off to change out the laundry. At which point I merely shove in another load, push the start button and hurry off to finish seeing how my meal is being prepared. After the buzzer goes off a few more times, I make the switches again, dump some dry clothes in a laundry basket and push it along the floor to the couch, because I am entirely too lazy to actually pick up the basket and carry it five whole steps. Actually I kind of make it like a race in my head, I push the basket because I think that way I will actually get to the couch quicker. I don't know which way is fastest yet. Maybe I should time it.

Anyway. Once the dry laundry is sitting in a heap by my couch I go about my business of washing dishes, fixing dinner, doing homework, sleeping, eating. You know, the important things in life. I must walk by the pile of clothes at least a million times before I realize that I had to dig through the laundry basket this morning just to find something clean to wear... ya. I need to fold those clothes. So, I pick up the basket, take one step and drop it on the floor, right smack in front of the tv. I mean, you have to do something while you fold the clothes, right? Of course! So I fold, and lay out the ones that are in desparte need of ironing. Even though I'm not going to iron them right now. That's just being an over acheiver. Instead, I throw it on top of the neatly folded clothes that I have placed neatly in the basket. The hubs has a basket with full of his clothes, and so do I. I don't like to share launry basket space. Actually, I think it's just makes it easier to put the clothes away if they are each in their own basket. I think if I ever have to do laundry for more people other than the hubs and me, they would each get their own basket too. Though... I might make them fold their own clothes! Ha! Yes. Yes, I would.

So, the clothes, are clean. The clothes are folded. The clothes are sitting in a laundry basket ready to be taken upstairs to be put away.

But the timer goes of for dinner, so I can't take them up right now. I'm busy you know. We eat dinner, I clean up from dinner, we watch our nightly show. And sleep. Who needs to put clothes away? They are folded after all. A few more weeks pass by and the clothes sit there. Ready and waiting to be put in their home. But do I do it?! No! Of course not! Finally, after a year of seeing the clothes sitting on the living room floor waiting to be put away, I lug the baskets upstairs. I have tried to take all three baskets at the same time before. It's not something I recommend trying. No. You might, just might, fall backwards as you are walking up the stairs and hit your head or something. Just saying. The baskets have to be carried one at a time. O, the things I do for my clothes.

Sadly, a lot of times, even after the clothes baskets with the neatly folded clothes make it upstairs to the bedroom to be put away. They aren't. Nope. They sit some more. Good gracious! Just go in the drawer! I tell them this. Every day. They don't listen. Nope. It's really actually quite unfortuante. If they listened and put them selves away my house would be much tidyer. It's true. But they don't. So it's not. … if only. Finally, finally, after another month passes by I work up the courage to conquer the neatly folded laundry. And I put it away. It takes 11 minutes. Whew. Glad that's over!

Unfortunately, I catch a glmps of the mountian of laundry that has collected since I last washed the clothes (which I think was about two years ago if I remember correctly). And the process starts all over again.

I'm sure you can imagine just as well as I by now, the nightmare I was having about laundry. If it normally takes me two years to do a few loads of laundry- with a washing machine and dryer, how long is it going to take me wash all of our clothes by hand?! A whole decade?! Ah! I hope not. But I'm not one to kid around. I know the truth. I have braced myself to dedicae the next ten years of my life to wash one load of laundry, dry it, fold it, and put it away. That's not even counting the ironing. If I included that, it would probably take me ten more years... twenty years to do one smelly load of laundry?! Are you kidding me?! Ah! This will be the worst summer of my life. I just want a washing machine.

“Hey look!” says the hubs, “They have little laundry rooms, around the apartments. One's really close to ours! That's great huh?” he's beaming.

“O. Ya. That is great!” I don't tell him my secret fear of it taking me twenty years to do one load of laundry. “I really am relieved to hear they have one here. It will save me twenty years.”

“What? Twenty years?” he looks at me quizzically.

“Nevermind. It's not important.”

A few days later we are out of clean clothes and it is time to do laundry. I stuff a suitcase full and pull it downstairs to the laundry room. I'm very pleased that I remembered my bag of quarters. I shouldn't be though. Wanna know why? The machine doesn't like quarters. No. It doesn't even accept one. Or a penny for that matter. Nope. Well... what the heck am I supposed to do if the washing machine doesn't eat my quarters?!

O. Right. There's a card. I need a card. A laundry card to be exact. There is no laundry card machine around me. Well... I lug the 20 pound suitcase back upstairs to our apartment. Rip open the door and slam it behind me. When I plop on the couch defeated like, the hubs says to me, “What's wrong?”

“The machine won't eat my quarters. I'm sure it'll eat a sock or two, but not my quarters. Nope.”

“How are you supposed to get pay for it?”

“I donno” I mumble.

The hubs encourages me to get up, we'll take a walk and find out how to master the machine. He's so swell. We walk over to the office to see if there is someone we can ask about the machine. There's not. We walk around the lobby and the hubby discovers a magic laundry card machine! I am sooo glad he found that! Right. I pull out out a money card, and swipe it to get my laundry card. It says “$5 PRESS OK” ok. I press “OK” out pops a little laundry card. Yes. I can finally do laundry. I know I might sound a little excited, and well, I guess I am... just a little bit. But not really. We treck back over to the apartment. Once again I set out with my 50 pound bag of laundry and haul it down the stairs, arcoss the rocks, and up the steps into th laundry room. I stick my card in the little card slot, push the “Colors” button and … nothing happens. O. Wait. Something does happen. The washing machine says “bad card” to me. What?!?!?! Are you kidding me?! I try again. Same thing happens. I try a different machine. Same thing happens. This is just great. Super. I just put $5 on my laundry card and it's not even working?! Oooo.... I am not a happy person. I try the third and last machine in the room. “bad card” it blinks at me like I'm an idiot.

Defeated I throw the suitcase up the stairs and stomp up after it. I storm in the door and shout, “It doesn't even work! It said it's a bad card?! What the crap?! Are you kidding me?! I JUST put 5 whole dollars on it! You would think that would wash my clothes!” See, told you I wasn't happy.

“Well, maybe it's just a bad card. Let's get a new one and try that.” The hubs sweetly suggests.

“This is stupid.” I mumble in response.

Once again I find my self walking beside the hubs to get a new card. Go through the whole process, again. We walk out with another $5 laundry card. I march up the stairs, yank the suitcase behind me and march down the staris. Again. Down in the laundry room, again, I push the new laundry card in the slot, push the “colors” button, and wait, again.

“bad card” the machine blinks at me, again. Good. Gravy. I want to strangle the stupid machine! I decide it's a faulty washer. I try the other two (again). When they tell me it's a bad card too, I walk over to another laundry room in the apartment complex. All three of those machines tell me the exact same thing, "bad card". well poop.

I storm across the parking lot dragging my 500 pound suitcase behind me. I mean, really! All I wanted to do was wash my clothes! I get upstairs and sit and fume for a little while.

After counting to ten I reach for my phone and call the number for the laundry card company. I explain my situation to the lady on the other end of the line. I tell her I bought the card for five dollars and it didn't work and I tried all the machines, and I bought a second card and that one didn't work either. And could she please help me.

Yes. Of course. She can. She proceeds to tell me that while I did buy a card, that's it. I bought a card. Unlike what I had thought (that I had bought a card and had $5 on the card to use for my laundry) I in fact had Zero dollars on the card.

The CARD cost $5?! Are you kidding me? Then I went and bought another one just like it when mine was perfectly fine in to begin with. There goes $5 down the drain. I love throwing my money away. Not. I ask her if I can get it back. Nope she says. Well, she says maybe, I might, but I have to call back during regular office hours.

I can't believe the card cost a whole flipping $5! Then I went and bought another one! O. Good. Gravy. I fume out the door across the parking lot, again, and yet again, swipe my money card so I can put money on my laundry card. You would think they would have a sign above the machine telling you all about how to work it and such. They don't. How thoughtful of them.

For the twenty-ith time I climb the stairs and get the suitcase stuffed full of dirty clothes. I am so incredibly buff by now since I have carried the 900 pound suitcase around with me all night that I just toss it up on my head and balance it all the way to the laundry room. I set it down, pull out the laundry card, and hold my breath. I stick it in the little machine and PRAY that it takes it and doesn't say "bad card" again.

Thank you Jesus!!! It works! whew! It's about time. I throw my two loads in, note how long it will take for the cycle to finish, and then I go back to the apartment (again). I sit. Actually, I don't sit, I do the dishes, wipe off the table, and I scrub our black cabinets.... yes. You heard me. I scrubbed our black cabinets. By the time I've finished all that my laundry's done washing. This time I am more than happy to go down and switch the loads around. After making 30 trips from the washer to the dryer, dryer to washer, washer to dryer... the clothes are drying. Naturally I get the clothes as soon as they are finished drying, because I don't want to leave them sitting in a dryer all night long for any one to come and pick through. So I bring them up and amazingly enough, I fold them. All. And that's where it ends. Because by the time they are folded, I am too sleepy to put them away. I mean, after all that the washer put me through, I'm just happy to have them folded. eh... that's what tomorrow's for though, right?

Farmers Market

After the hubs gets off work he comes over and meets me. I am sitting (naturally of course, as would any one with two broken feet and no crutches to use be) on the the steps of City Hall, but apparently it's not really City Hall anymore because there are waiters and such going in and out of the front doors carrying tables and other restaurant kind of things. The waiters are probably looking at me thinking, "what does this girl think she is doing just sitting on our steps?! Doesn't she know there are benches and other perfectly good places to sit?" Or maybe they aren't thinking that, but that's the impression I get from them when I glance over and see one of them giving me the death stare. Good gracious. I just want to sit down, can't you see I am crippled?! I decide if they do come over to try and shoo me away I would look at them like I can't understand what they are saying, I would play dumb, or deaf. Then maybe that'd show em. Then they would feel all bad and stuff and leave me alone. Thankfully they have more sense then to come over to shoo me away. Plus, my cover might already be blown because I was just talking on my phone to someone, and if I was talking on the phone it obviously means I can hear perfectly well and I can also speak. Good thing I didn't have to think of a new excuse.

When the hubby comes over he asks if I've gotten my bike from the bike shop yet. Nope. I am making them pay! They are the ones that have to suffer now. ...though, I'm not quite sure how much suffering they are actually in just because I haven't picked my bike up yet. Still, I reassure myself they are completely miserable because I haven't been over to get my bike yet. Before I stand up to walk over and get it I look around me for a stick, a cane, a crutch, a cat, something, anything, to help me along. Sadly, there are none. So I limp pathetically over to the bike shop, happy it is only a block down the street. I think I have never been so excited in all of my life to see a bicycle. Seriously. I even think I was more excited to see the bicycle than my sister was one Christmas when she actually got a bicycle of her very own and jumped up and down and danced all around. I was way more excited. It's true. Only, I couldn't dance to show it as I was crippled.

Once outside I immediately sit on the bike and ride. Ah. Now, that is much better. My feet are happy again. We ride around for a while looking to see what there is to see. I like that there are bike paths Everywhere! I'm actually not terrified to ride in the 'bike lane' on the road. It makes me feel all cool and hip. Except not really. Because as I continue to pedal around town, my bike continues to become increasingly louder. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEK! CREEEEEEkk. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! It screams at me as I push the pedals. Just perfect. Now everyone can hear me coming from five miles away. And I'll also really truly loose my hearing from riding this bicycle. At least then I won't have to pretend with the waiters at the City Hall restaurant any more. This time it will be for the reals. I will have to scribble on an bit of napkin, "Sorry. I can't hear. I lost my hearing due to the fact that my bicycle squeaked and groaned so loudly that I lost my hearing. I would probably still be able to hear you if I had been able to sit right next to the speakers at a concert, as the loud concert speakers are nothing in comparison to my bike. Unfortunately, I wasn't given that option. There it is, my bike. Ride it and see for yourself." At which point I would point to my bike and nod my head vigorously with a big fat smile on my face. "Yes! Yes!" I would think, "Ride it! Ride it!" and an evil smile would slowly stretch across my face. But they wouldn't ride it. They would just go on and about their business and leave me sitting in silence. Pity.

After an hour of riding around town, we stop to look at a map of the town. While the hubs isn't looking, I take his backpack off his pack, he didn't even notice, that's how discrete I am, and set it one the ground. I take the 30 pound laptop out of my bag and shove it in his. By the time he's done looking at the map, I had made a successful switch. "Whatcha doing?" he says to me.

"Nothin." I smile and hand him his bag. He throws it on like it's empty. oooo..... I feel my face tightening in a glare.

He turns to me and says, "Ready?"

I quickly convert my glare to a sweet smile and say, "Yup!" How is it that carrying 30 pounds is nothing? How does it have no affect on him? I wish I could do that. Though, I think it's probably because he came fresh from work and not limping 20 miles into town and another 5 miles around town while hauling 60 pounds on his back like some of us did. Yes. That's it. He is just fresh and pain free. That's how he does it. ...And also it's probably because he is a lot bigger than me and he actually has muscles, where as I don't have a single one. Not one. If I had muscles it would probably help. I'll have to work on that. Right. Well, it's very sweet of him to carry the computer around. I'm glad he has muscles even though I don't.

We're not super hungry so we decide to go to the farmers market to see what all the commotion is about. "The World's Favorite Farmers Market" to be precise. Or something like that. They have it posted all around the designated farmers market area. We park and lock up the bikes (even though I'm pretty sure no one would want mine, and even if they did take it for some reason, they would bring it back straight away because of the deafening screech it screams at you unceasingly. Yes. They would return it in a heart beat.

We walk along, well, he walks, I hobble. There are people everywhere. There is food everywhere. There are little tents set up that are makeshift kitchens. People are in them fixing food and shoving it through little holes in the tents for people to take from. There are lines of people waiting to get their food. People are wandering around looking for seats, looking for their friends. Walking through the market we see countless amounts of yummy looking fruits. Peaches, cherries, strawberries, blackberries, plumes, and other fruits I don't know. There are bunches of veggies too. Lettuce ($6 a pound), carrots, beets (I think... it's really huge and kind of round, and purple, and anyway that's what the sign above it says so it must be a beet), onions, garlic, ginger, herbs. There are jams and honey, sauces, and handmade towels, there's meat too. 1 pound of chicken for $7. Fresh, hormone free, cage free, grain fed, range roaming chickens and cows for sale. Well, parts of the chicken or cow, not a whole live cow. That would be too much trouble to fix for dinner. Thankfully they keep the meat in a cooler until you want to buy it. Men are shouting, "Fresh, organic cherries! Come try em!" and "Fresh, locally grown peaches! Come get some!" Well, shoot, I'm never one to pass up an opportunity of free anything (food, clothes, rent... you get the idea) so when they shout to come and try their goods, well, I'm all over that. I try a cherry from each stand (because I can). As I taste each one, I pretend to be comparing it to the cherries from the other stands. Then I try the peaches. They are all the same... well, pretty much. I keep going, from table to table, trying each and every fruit I can. yummy! Free food!!! What a great meal! Well, I guess it doesn't really quantify as a meal, but it is pretty good and very fresh tasting.

After we are full from sampling all of the fruits we go and sit. People are playing games, eating, setting up picnics with their families, babies are running around naked. Three guys come over and plop down right in front of us, pull out some instruments and start jamming. They think they are soooo cool, just cause they can play the guitar and bang a drum. They are trying to attract the chicks (well, that's what we speculate at least). But ha! It back fires on them. Instead they attract old men and toddlers. Sorry guys. You are out of luck tonight.

I quite enjoy the sitting. My feet are happy and relatively pain free. I could sit all night and not move. I would be happy to do just that. As I'm thinking these happy feet thoughts, the hubs says, "I might like to go get some food." And of course, I don't want to be left out of the endeavor of hunting for food, so I get up and limp along side him. The quest begins. Soon we are surrounded my people passing by with plates of food, all different types of food. Ooo that looks good, wonder where they got that? That looks good too. Huh. Well, how do you ever decide? As the hubs is a lot more decisive than I am, he has found what he wants and goes to wait in line. I don't want to hobble around all night trying to decide what I want to eat and starve to death even though I am surrounded by food, so I just pick a line and stand in it. Then I find the menu and try to find the cheapest thing on it. Perfect a salad.... with Organic spinach (I like how they felt the need to clarify that on the menu, I guess people wouldn't buy a salad it if it didn't say "Organic Spinach" next to it. I'm just going for it because I'm cheap) walnuts, dried berries, and some fancy name cheese I can't even say, let alone know what it is. Maybe I picked the wrong line. But no. I'm staying and I'm getting that salad. I don't even get a drink... even though I'm dying of thirst. The menu said they had free tap water, when I asked for some, they said they didn't have any. Liars. So, naturally, I refuse to buy water when I could have gotten it for free. I take my salad and hobble off to find the hubs. Yes. He got a water. What a smart guy. Maybe he'll share it with me. He will. We sit at a table and he opens his amazing looking burrito. Why does it never fail that whatever he gets, no matter where we are, his always always looks better than mine. All I have is a bunch of rabbit food to munch on. super. But I eat it because 1. I paid for it and 2. I'm not going to let it go to waste.

The hubs shares some of his water (I told you he would, he's just swell like that) and even lets me try some of his burrito. I offer my bunny mix to him and he tries some. I thought the sign said there was dried berries in the salad, but I only got one. Glad they are so generous with their fruit portions. And the cheese is too dry for the salad. Maybe if they put more dressing on the "Organic Spinach" it would be a little better. Or if they would have used an actual real cheese, it probably would have helped heaps. Eh. Well, at least I feel really healthy eating this mixture of greens and one dried berry. We sit around for a little longer, finish our food, and decide to get some stuff. We venture back into the market with all the loud farmers yelling that their produce is better than the other farmers' because theirs is organic or locally grown... We look at the prices. Which farmer has the cheapest peaches, cherries, and plumes? That's the one we pick. Because, it's like I said, we are cheap. We find a few yummies and then head back to the bikes.

My bike is right where I left it, (told you it would still be there) as it should be. Oh... but what if it wasn't still there? What would I do if someone had taken my bike. I'm sure I would have walked (I mean limped) the 7 miles back home with a perfectly sweet demeanor. Naturally. I wouldn't have started hobbling off saying nasty things under my breath... about how I hate bicycles, or how this day is just a complete rotten crap day. Nope. I would have been the sweetest thing, all smiles. No complaints would be coming out of this mouth. Nope. Not one.

The Bicycle

The hubs got me a bicycle. Well, it's not really mine to keep, but he says I can use it for the rest of the summer while we're here. That is unless of course he doesn't get a bike or something like that. Thankfully, some nice chap from his work has agreed to loan him his bike... at least, for a little while.

So, the first night the hubs rode home on my bike. After dinner he shows me. I don't really know what I'm expecting to see. Some fancy shamancy pretty bicycle like I see at all of the bike shops around town? Yes. The bicycle of my dreams, the one that has a flower painted on the frame, the seat, and even has a little basket at the handles to tote important things around in? Yes. An old, mountain bike that is black and red and covered in mud? Somehow the response is also, yes. I hope for the pretty bike, I dread the muddy bike. I met by a combination of both. "Huh. Well. Nice. Thanks." That's all I've got. Not that the bicycle isn't nice or anything. It's dandy. It's a bicycle, it has two wheels with air in them, it has brakes that work, there are handle bars, and a seat. What more could I ask for? And shoot, it's free. That is the best part. No money going down the drain on this beaut. Well, maybe not a beauty per say... but you know what I mean. It's a good stable ride. The rust on the red frame just means it is well loved... Right.

Having a bicycle to ride around on is great. This means I can go into town so much easier and quicker than I could other wise. What takes about 40 - 60 minutes to walk (depends on the speed and determination) only takes about 20ish minutes to ride. I'm so pleased that I will finally be able to get out of the apartment and actually go somewhere. It really gets quite lonely sitting all alone by your self all day long, every day. This way at least I can go sit all alone while being surrounded by complete strangers. My favorite. I am so looking forward to riding a bicycle and going into town, eating lunch with the hubs, and then sitting in quaint little coffee shops while the afternoon passes by.

After the hubs leaves that morning I work on some ever impending business: homework. It never stops. I really wish it would.... nine more weeks... I can make it. About an hour before lunch time I pack up my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, and cherries, water, and homework. I am set. I go down and proceed to unlock my new bicycle to ride into town. I roll the bike out to the road, and hop on. Off and away! This is going to be great! I haven't ridden a bicycle in years! I love riding bikes. ah. I'm also excited by the fact that I will get into town a whole half hour earlier than I'm supposed to meet the hubs for lunch. He will be so surprised to see me sitting out waiting for him! The perfect day.

Or not. There seems to be a problem. The bike does not work. Well, I mean, yes, as far as peddling the peddles, it works great. It's just that, there doesn't seem to be any air in the back tire. Nope. None. Not even a little bit. In fact, I see as I examine the tire up close, that there is in fact, a big fat gash. Lovely. Perfect. No more bike rides for me. I'm pretty sure you don't ride a bicycle when there is ka-phut air in the tire.

I text the hubs, "NO AIR! What do I do?!" He doesn't text back. How irritating. This is an emergency and he doesn't even take the time to text me back. Great. I mean, I know he's at work and all, but seriously, how important can work be when there is Obviously a very pertinent situation with his sweet little wifey?! I text again, "What should I do?"

My doorbell rings (aka, I got a text message) "Where are you? How much air is out?"

Splendid! It's the hubs! "On my way to town. What should I do?!??!" I wonder why he didn't just answer that question to being with? I keep walking. I want him to text. Now! Am I being unreasonably impatient? Again, I can't help but think, it's not like he's got anything important going on around him... unless you consider work important. eh... that's a toss up. I keep walking.

Another ring, "Walk it into town if you can."

Super. Just what I wanted to do. Walk. Walk a bicycle, three and a half miles, in the middle of the afternoon, with the hot sun shining down on me. Perfect. Also, did I mention I am carrying 20 plus pounds worth of crap (aka super old laptop) on my back? Cause if I didn't, I meant to. I am carrying 20 plus pounds of crap on my back. I keep walking. Pushing the pathetic piece of metal that is considered by some a bicycle.

I feel a rush of wind, and see a man on a super nice, really fancy street bike whiz past me. Now that's a bike. I keep walking. Another man passes me on his fancy shamancy street bike. Great. I keep pushing. Two minutes later another bicycle zooms past me. The trend continues. No one is walking their bike. Nope. Just me. I'm sure they are all thinking, "What in the world is that girl doing walking her bike? Why would anyone walk their bike. What a dumb girl!" There thoughts make me walk faster, make me push the bike harder. I feel a trickle of sweat on the back of my neck. It rolls down by back. Another bike with air in both wheels passes by. Surprised? Nope. Everyone has air in their tires. No one I see has a slashed back tire. Oh good grief. Everyone's going to get to where they are going so much quicker than I am. I'm not even half way there yet. My feet hurt. I look down. yup. Those would be flip flops. What was it I just said the other day? I will never ever again walk a thousand miles in a pair of flip flops? Yup. that would be it. Welp, it must be my lucky day because today I get to walk triple times a thousand miles... in flip flops. People keep passing me. This is getting really old, really quickly. I'm sick of everyone riding on bicycles that are perfectly new and shinny and in working condition. My back is soping wet. Gross. I am disgusting. ... snif. snif. Is that me?! Ew! I stink too! On top of it all, I smell like like a skunk who hasn't taken a bath in a year! The hubs is not even going to want to sit by me I smell so wretchedly.

Lunch. The hubs. He will already be long done eating his lunch by the time I get into town. Super. I make this trip for nothing. I didn't want to walk a bike twenty miles into town just to eat lunch by myself. But turns out that's what I'm doing. My steps quicken in anger and frustration. Another man in his skin tight shorts and shirt and fancy bike blow by me. Like I'm invisible. I'm not invisible though. I don't think I am anyway. ...not that anything would change by them stopping and trying to help me. I know what a flat tire looks like, and I know I've got one. I also know that I'd just plaster a cheap smile on my face and say I'm just fine and dandy if they were to ask if I needed help. Which they didn't. So I didn't. Not that I expected them too. I don't need their help. I have two perfectly fine feet. Well, mostly fine, they are after all, still quite broken from the 30 mile walk in flip flops a few days prior. Thank goodness I have my bike at least, it gives me an excuse to hobble along the road. Or gives support at least. Yes. The support of the bike is nice, though the pain in my feet is not.

The hobble into town seems to take forever longer than when the hubs and I walked in the other day. huh. My phone rings. "Yes?" I don't mean to sound so abrupt. woops. I couldn't help it. It's him.

"Where are you?"

huff. puff. How am I supposed to hobble, push a bike, carry a 50 pound bag on my back, and talk on the phone all at the same time?! "I don't know." I grunt, "walking." puff huff. This is exhausting.

"O. I've got to go."

Whew. Glad that's over... I glare up at the intense sun, judging by the suns' place in the sky it is two hours past lunch time and I figure it will probably take me until the sun goes down to make it into town. joy. Phone rings.

"What?!" I say rather impatiently. Hum... I really hope that's the hubs, I didn't even bother to look, it seemed too much trouble to take the time to look at the phone before answering, as it is 120 degrees outside and I'm hobbling along pushing a big hunk of metal, carrying 60 pounds on my now completely soaked back. I should have checked first. It would be just my luck that it would be some professional calling me in for some important meeting and now they are turned off 100% because some rude girl just shouted into the phone. perfect. Please o please o please, be the hubs. Or, family, family would be great. A friend? Let it be someone I know. Please. ...if it weren't though, if it were an important meeting, and they ask for me, I could just say, "Hold please, I'll get her." Then I would cover the mouth piece, and muffle a bit. Stop walking. And then in a very sweet and chipper voice I would sing, "Hello? This is me. How can I help you?" Great recovery. Good plan.

"Hey." it is the hubs (secretly I whisper a little thank you. Even though I was rude, at least he knows me and I can apologize and give an explanation of why I happened to be so unkind).

I keep walking. "What?!" It just came out. Again. Man, I am not such a pleasant person when I am a crippled, because do I not only just have two broken feet, but I also now have a hunch back. And I am relying on a bike to keep me going. Why is life so difficult?

"Where are you?"

"The same street as before. Not much new going on here." I want to get there... now. I want to sit. I want to wash my feet and wrap them in gauze. That would make it all better. Hubby says he is walking to meet me. He's so sweet! I vow to smile when I see him and be pleasant the whole time.

... an hour later I see him walking towards me from across the street. finally. He crosses the street and takes my crutch. Very sweet of him. I just smile and hobble along side him. I told you I was only going to smile and be sweet. The hubs looks down at the tire and says, "Wow. that is really flat."

"Yup." I knew I wasn't making things up.

We go and enjoy a little lunch together and then find a bicycle shop. They can fix it. good. It needs a new tire they say, 'ya think?!' I want to respond. I'm not an idiot. It also needs new tubes. Again, I want to say to them, 'do you really take me for ditz? I know what it needs! I just want you to fix it!' I bite my tongue and let the hubs do the talking. I think I wouldn't say anything nice if I opened my mouth, so I don't say anything at all. After the hubs goes back to work, they try to sell me. Well, not literally, they don't put a price tag on me and put me up for sale. They do however try to get me to buy everything nice, new, and fancy to fix the bike that they have at their store (which is quite a lot). At this point I'm thinking:

1. It's not my bike.

2. Just fix it.

3. If I were to buy all of what you are telling me to buy, it would just be cheaper for me to buy a brand new bike of my liking.

4. I'm not an idiot.

5. Just fix it.

They offer me the nice pretty tires, the ones with flowers and white on them... they think they have me, since I'm a girl, and since I'm getting new tires, why wouldn't I? They are only a few dollars more than the other plain ones. Ok... how much more exactly? ... The plain ones are $20, the pretty ones are $30. That is NOT just a few dollars more I want to say to them. Can they not add?! I mean, I am the furthest thing from being a math genius, but I do know that $10 is not, "a few more" it's a whole 10 more! and when you get two of them (which I would be) it would be a whole $20 extra!!! That is a lot of money. Do you know what you can do with $20?! I could be a quarter of the way to my own new shinny bike with that much mula. Nope. I tell them I want the cheapest they've got that fit the bike. I am satisfied when they look disappointed. A few minutes later they are scrutinizing the bike, telling me all kinds of things that are wrong with it and how I should just fix it all, right now because it is going to break soon. They can't tell me how soon, or when it will break, they just know it will be soon. It would save me money. Again, I do the math in my head, by the time they tell me it's so worth it to do the other repairs, I've got my brand new happy and shinny white (or baby blue or purple) bike with a flower on the frame and on the seat, and a basket on the handle bars. I think I'll stick to saving up my money for a new bike, thank you. Wow. I'm impressed with my mad math skills. I am on a role today!

They tell me it will take until at least 6 that night to fix the tires (it's not even 1). "Sure," I say. Whatever. I know it won't take them that long to fix it. I mean, I could fix it myself by 3 and fixing bikes is not my specialty. Why do they lie to me?

I limp out of the bike shop and around town until I find the quaint little coffee shop. I find myself sitting inside at a little table trying to connect to Starbucks' Wi-Fi. I decided this coffee shop was quaint because I have a gift card and I can't go sit in some little coffee shop without ordering anything, and I know how much they over price their drinks, so I am thrilled to have a gift card. That way, it's free internet and a free drink. ...in case you haven't noticed, I'm all about free stuff (or very cheap). I decide a drink will be my treat for doing a few hours of homework. It's the perfect reward.

45 minutes later my phone rings, it's the bike shop. My bike is fixed and I can go get it. See? I told you it wouldn't take ten hours to fix my bike. But of course I don't go right away to pick up the bike, it's their turn to wait! ha! Plus, I'm quite busy doing important things at the quaint little coffee shop.

Picking up the bike at the end of the day is quite nice. I like the fact that both tires have air in them and are fully functional once again. The hubs and I ride all around town. Yes. I like to ride the rusty red bike.

The Longest Day

The next day it is not so easy to wake up at the crack of dawn. Thank goodness! Maybe it's a combination of staying up a little bit later. Maybe not. You know, it's not so hard to stay up late... well, at least when you are comparing that to waking up early. It is definitely easier to stay up a few hours later than it is to wake up a few (or even just one) hour earlier. Oh brother. I hate Monday mornings. They are the worst. I even read about it in an article one time. It's true. The article claimed that people have more heart attacks on Monday mornings, since they are disturbed so abruptly from their blissful sleep when the obnoxiously irritatingly loud alarm clock goes off right in their ear. It's too much of a shock for them to bear. I have taken this into consideration and tried convincing the hubs that he just shouldn't set his alarm for Monday mornings... at least not at such an early hour. He could go into work a little later, that would be safer than having a heart attack. It's all about the logic. He looks at me and just says sadly, "I wish." pathetic. Darn Monday mornings!

So the alarm continues to honk at us dark and early. My favorite. Actually, half of the time, I don't even hear the loud honking of the alarm. It's the hubs. Poor guy, actually has to get up when it goes off. I just lay in bed and sleep. After he's ready to take on the day I finally get up and shuffle into the kitchen flip on the light and slink back into the dark corner of the room with no lights on. Ah, much better. who needs light anyway? Not me! I have a remedy for that: if a light is on and you don't agree with it, close your eyes. Instant darkness. Unless of course there is a light on then it probably won't be completely pitch black behind your eyelids. But it will be a lot darker than it would be if your eyes were open. It's true. You should try it some time. Anyhow, we have breakfast, lunch gets fixed, and off he goes.

Here comes the hard part. Do I crawl back under the tantalizing covers, close my eyes, enjoy complete darkness, and sleep for another few hours? Or do I stay up, get dressed and start doing productive things? I never can decide. Half of me (okay, more like 99% of me) wants to get back under the covers and snooze for a while yet. But somehow that messily 1% gets a hold of me more frequently than not and I shuffle into the bathroom, flip the switch on and see someone squinting at me with some of the most frazzled hair I have ever seen in my life. It's a little frightening to be completely honest. The squinty eyed person moves her head, rubs her eyes... hey, that's what I'm doing. I wrinkle my nose like a bunny. She does it too! Incredulous that someone has invaded and is stalking me in my own home I reach for my phone to call 911. And I realize that lovely squinty eyed, frazzled hair, bunny nose person is me. Great. Lots of work to to do today. I mean, wow. It's going to take at least five hours to recover from this hideous look I'm currently sporting. Super.

Well, now that I'm awake and somewhat less atrocious looking I pull out a book. I always let myself read in the morning. It makes me happy. I like to read. It gets me in a good mood. Good moods are a good thing. ... a few minutes, or wait, hours later, I feel incredibly uncomfortable and feel a little damp something on the side of my face. woops. I stand up and rub my eyes. Looking in the mirrior I see the mark left on the left side of my face by my notebook. Oh. I must have dozed off... again. brother. This just does not work. I just need to go back to bed after the hubs leaves, it would be way more productive, restful, and a lot less painful and dry than waking up an hour later with a crick in your neck and slobber running down the side of your face.

Welcome lunch time. I thought you would never come! ...Even though I can't recall a single thing I did since breakfast time. eh. oh well. What's it that the French say? Say La Ve? I'm sure that's not it, and I'm sure they have some fancy shamancy way to write it so you can't read it or say it, but I like how it sounds, that I can actually read it, and the meaning I have given it: "oh well!" Prefect! Say La Ve. Peanut butter and jelly, a few chips, and cherries, I sit down at the table with my best friend: a book. At least, that's the only friend I have currently. The hubs is off doing important things, and I just really honestly don't know anyone else. Not even the mail man. A book suits me just fine. ....It's really really quite.

chirp. chirp. tweet. chirp. tweet.

O goodness! Glad that's over with. That was probably the most awkward lunch I have ever eaten in my entire life. I know it's true. whew. Gratefully I move on to homework. O yes. The homework. I hate it. But kind of like it... wait, did I just say, "kind of like it" regarding homework?! What?! That is pure loonyness! I do not like homework. Not one little bit. Nope. You never heard that from me. But hey, I can say it gives me something to do. I plop down on the carpet and get working.

Five minutes later: I'm finished. I wish. Nope. Loads more to do. I keep working. On and on and on it goes. If you were to come in and see me at any given point in the next ten hours you would see exactly the same thing, regardless of when it was... if you came and left, came and left, and came and left again, I would be doing the exact same thing. I wouldn't have moved an inch. I would be sitting on the floor criss cross apple sauce, staring at the computer screen clicking sometimes, sometimes typing, lots of reading. Repeat times infinity; that is what I'm doing. It's true. Come on over and you can see for yourself. No wait. Don't come over. I really wouldn't recommend doing that as it is highly un-entertaining. You would have more fun sitting and watching the paint dry on a wall in the middle of the desert. Really.

After forty-five years pass, the hubs Finally gets home. I don't know if I've ever been as happy to see him (well, that's not true. There have been other occasions where I have been a lot more happy to see him. Like the one time I flew in from Idaho and we hadn't seen each other in like... twenty months! Or the time he flew into Kentucky the day before the day we were supposed to get married, and I hadn't seen him in practically four months! Now that is a long time to go without seeing someone you are supposedly getting married to. Four months may not sound like a long time... but when you are planning to marry someone and you do not see them for a whole four months before the big day... wow. That is a long time. ...and, saying that kind of makes it sound like we didn't get married, we did though, obviously, I'm sure you're bright enough to figure that when I say "the hubs" or "the hunny" I'm referring to the one and only.

Like I was saying, the hubs comes home and I am overjoyed to see him. We fix some food and this time eating is not quite so awkward. Birds, really make very little conversation and what little conversation they do make is not all that great. Plus they think they can just nibble at your food without even asking. It's really pretty disgusting if you ask me. Dinner is nice when you can enjoy the company of someone you like a lot and they don't pick bits of bread from your sandwich as you are eating it.

That was my day. It sounds like I did a whole lot of nothing. Well, that is probably because it's true. I did a whole lot of nothing. ...unless of course you consider doing homework for ten hours something. Which I don't, naturally.

I really hope my days get a little more exciting than this... there's got to be something better than sitting and doing homework in a little box with white walls that are slowly being speckled in some foreign black residue (who even knows?!) ...

Day One

After a full, good night rest, I woke refreshed at the crack of dawn. That hour really should not exist. So I forced myself to go back to sleep (sound familiar?) and closed my eyes only to open them a quarter of an hour later... if that much longer. Tired of trying to make myself lay in bed and sleep I get up, eat breakfast (notice a routine to my mornings?) and realize I still smell like nasty airplane. gross. Walk into the bathroom to find that 1. there is no shower rod and 2. the bathtub needs to be cleaned (not because it was visibly filthy, but you just never know when the last time it was cleaned, how throughly it was cleaned, or what or who was in in last). disgusting. Thankfully we had the foresight to walk to the market the night before because we realized that there was no 1. toilet paper 2. soap 3. food (of course these things wouldn't be there... and it would probably even be super repulsive if they were. ...Actually, come to think of it there was some soap. One bottle of hand soap with the top that was so throughly caked in orange colored soap I refused to touch it let alone use any of it. My sweet smelling anti-bacterial hand sanitizer was the overwhelming choice as far as what to use to wash my hands with, thank you). So we walked to the market (like I said) and got some food, soap, cleaner -obviously!, and t.p. Loverly.

As I was saying... after breakfast I walked into the bathroom and realized that it was time for the inevitable. Time to clean the bathroom. joy. After an hour of scrubbing the tub raw it was finally usable. Then came discovery number 7: the hot water is not so hot. In fact the hot water is hardly hot at all. Wonderful. My dream come true. Taking a bath... an ice cold bath. I might as well just jump in the pool and call it good. I mean, it's essentially the same thing, right? Right. Waiting another hour for the water to get some what warm was no problem. It was after all, only 7 in the morning. I could wait all day.

Five hours later I am clean smelling and a little bit fresher looking. Well, I hoped so at least. We decided to take a walk to see what there was to see. It's about a 3 mile walk into town from where we are staying, thankfully there are bike trails and sidewalks all over town. Maybe one of my favorite things. After walking into town, walking around town (and seeing that everything was still closed because it was after all only 10 o'clock in the morning), and sitting for an hour to waste the time, we were ready for food. We sat down and enjoyed a very yummy breakfast with pancakes the size of Mars (literally, the pancakes were the size of Mars). Because we were unaware of the vast size of the pancakes when we ordered we naturally couldn't eat all four of them. So we stuffed them into an undersized white to go box from the restaurant and walked outside. Keep in mind, we have no idea when we are going to get back home. We decide that since we are already in town, and we were in dire need of a shower curtain we might as well keep walking till we get to a store that sells shower curtains (and other things would be nice too).

Fast forward ten hundred miles, and we arrive at the one and only real store (with affordable prices that is) in town: Target. I really don't think I have ever been so happy and excited to see a Target in my life, and that is saying something because I just love that store. So we walk around the store and get the essentials on our list. Of course there are so many cool things at the store, and there is a lot of food too....

The hubs says, "Let's stick to the list, let's get that first and then we'll see what we see..."

"Ok," says I and I start walking in the direction of the list items. I look to my side, and then I look behind me to see that there is no hubs to be found anywhere. "Where did he go?" I think. I turn around, walk back to where he made his declaration of sticking to the list, and find him googly eyed over some food item that is on mucho sale.

"Can we get it?!" he asks like a little boy who really wants a puppy of his very own.

"Eh, sure." Oh brother... now we are going to have even more crap to carry around. Lovely. This trend continues on for a while, I take five steps, he disappears and finds some great deal or food that we need. I guess I can't say much, I've done the same exact thing a gazillion times. The only difference is I don't usually end up getting the much needed item. I just look at it for an hour and decide I can live without it, even if it is food.

By the end of the shopping excursion to Target we have a cart full of crap, along with our leftover pancakes (as you can very well imagine that in itself would be a lot to carry). Thankfully, my wonderful hunny discovered a phone number and found a shuttle that could come pick us up from Target with our loads of crap and take us back to our summer residence. Walking ten miles with all of that would have been a little too much to bare I think.

Back at home I sink into the couch with the feeling that I have never quite felt so relieved to sit down. My feet feel broken, in fact, I think my feet are broken. Is that possible? To have broken feet? Well, I guess it is considering as how I now have two of them. Great. I will be hobbling around pathetically for the next year and a half because of this walk. I make a mental note and remind myself that I will most certainly never again walk 7 plus miles in flip flops.

Leaving

The day had come. It was time to leave. Leaving was a little crazy though. Crazy because there is so much to do before you leave for two months. Things to check, pack, wash, put away. Who knows what we left the house looking like. I hope it was clean. I hope it was orderly. Leaving the house when it's not so tidy is okay, really it's no big deal even. It's the coming home to an disorderly home that gets ya. One of my favorite things is coming home. My next favorite thing is coming home to a nice, clean, tidy, home. yes. that just has warm fuzzies written all over it.

The morning of L day the alarm was set to go off at 8:09 (I never can set my alarm for an even time). I woke up at 7:43. I decided to try and sleep until the alarm was set to go off. I laid there for a minute and looked at my clock expecting ten or fifteen minutes to have passed. nope. Only one had gone by. I let my head fall back into the pillow and force my eyes closed. I am determined to make myself sleep. I slept. Open my eyes, look at the clock. 7:45 it stares back at me. Irritated at the clock for not cooperating with me I throw the covers off of me, sit up, turn the broken clock off and get up. I start throwing all of the last minute things into the suitcase. I put in a load of laundry, I fix breakfast, nothing fancy, just cereal, bagels, and lot of milk and juice (can't let anything go to waste you know). Plop down at the kitchen table and munch on some of my selection. de-lish. I leave it for the hubs to eat whatever he wants and I go on my merry way switching the wash to dry and putting in a second load. I find a pair of sorts that is missing a button ...that's why I didn't wear those ones last summer... and search for some thread and needle. Since there is no time to fuss with finding the properly matching color thread I pick the first one I see and stitch the button back in place. light tan on dark brown. nice. my shirt will cover it though, right? whew. a few down, a million more things and counting to do.

Upstairs I fold, roll, and squeeze more clothes than necessary into the bags we are taking. The buzzer for the laundry goes off... I run down to get that, tote it upstairs, and the folding, rolling, squeezing process begins all over again. And the putting away of clothes, can't leave a mess behind, you know. People text, I text back. Must check email. Don't forget to print off the itinerary. Run the dish washer. Write that check to those people. put the mail out for Bob (the post man) to get. Charge the phones. Charge the ipods (miserable trip without those). Pack the chargers. Pack snacks. Mail comes. Hunny calls for me to come out, it sound urgent. He's holding an envelope. for me. It's the important note I've been dying to get. Open the letter. Read the letter. Trash the letter. It's not what I was hoping for. Cry. Blubber. wash face. Mama-in-law is on her way. Calm down. Hunny hands me a bag. Open. Out comes a dress. A very pretty dress. He says he had no idea there was so much crap out there you have to look through to get to the good dresses. It's so hard to find one good dress when all of the others are so ugly. true. now he knows why it takes so long to shop... Thankfully it fits like a charm. It makes me cry again. He got me a perfectly sweet dress to celebrate and instead had to give it to me to cheer me up. and it does. But for some reason it makes me cry. oh good gracious. Wash face. Make up the face. pack the make up. Friends come over and bring an awesome filing cabinet with them they found for me. I've always wanted a filing cabinet of my very own. This makes me happy. Chit chat. Chat chit. The hubs loads them up with all of the food we can't possibly eat before we leave, in an hour, and they're off. We forgot to give them the milk. shucks. Hubs Mama and sisters come over. Wash the dishes, put the dishes away. Go to the post office. Go to the bank. Take the filing cabinet upstairs. Send school stuff off. save school stuff on zip drive. eat? three bites. Zip up bags. load up the car. run through the house to make sure it's all done. Everything's finished. Locked, closed, dark.

Leave.

Drive to airport. Check in line is, of course, the longest one I've seen in the past three years. We're late. I'm impatient. I'm tight all over. Our turn. Get tickets. Go through security. check. whew. get to gate. sit. relief floods. whew. We made it. We're actually going. wild. Heart beat starts to slow. My body begins to relax. Board the airplane. take off, land, repeat. Get bags find ride. New things to see, new things to do. Calm.

We are home sweet temporary home.

Packing

Packing is an art and a wonderful puzzle all mixed into one great big suitcase (or backpack, or tub, or box, or duffel bag... take your pick). It's true. I know this because I have a life time of experience when it comes to packing. So much so that I consider it one of my special gifts. If you are ever in need of a packing pal, call me up!

On Wednesday morning the packing adventure began. Starting with the obvious: pulling the suitcases, two suitcases, out of the closet and throwing them on the bedroom floor. It has started. Now to the hard part. What to pack?

Packing for a weekend trip is one thing. You throw in a shirt or two, maybe something a little dressy for church, maybe not. A second pair if pants (depending on where you are going or how much space you have, or how much crap you want to lug around with you), pajamas, and of course, the very essential, and ever necessary: even if you pack nothing else be sure to pack some of these: underwear. It's a must. Above all else. Although, I'm sure you already knew that. After that comes the toothbrush and toothpaste (also a must, as long as you have toothpaste you can get by ... even without a toothbrush). Soap would be good too, though that is dependent on where you are going to be staying. If you are going home or to a friends house or a hotel, there is probably (at a hotel most certainly) some soap for you to use. After that everything is pretty much packed up. I mean, you've got the essentials, maybe you might take your make-up bag and some deodorant. Well, deodorant is pretty important because if you can't get to a shower to wash and make yourself smell a little fresher, deodorant it is automatic freshness in a stick. A few swipes and you're good to go. Good as new. You're done. The weekend packing trip is no problem.

Packing for a week or two doesn't vary terribly from packing for the weekend, you just take a few more changes of clothes, but as far as soap and toothpaste goes, you would be taking that anyway.

Packing to move is another story. But a simple one. When you pack to move you just pack everything you own. Everything up to the cotton swabs. The challenge of packing to move is when you come to the tiny little left over things. Not the clothes, bedding, linens, pots, pans, or the couch. No, it's the little things, like the remote, the alarm clock, and the candles. But still, it's all going, you will unpack it all in a matter of weeks (most likely) so all you have to do is get it into the boxes.

When you pack for any amount of time over two weeks and under six months, you pretty much have to take the same amount of belongings. For example, I had the challenge of packing for an eight week trip. Now, that is a challenge. Going in I was determined to pack one suitcase for me, one suitcase for the hunny, and a carry one bag for us to share. Perfect I thought. Most certainly doable. yes... well, that is until I kept packing.

I started with the essentials. You know the ones: clothes, pajamas, underwears, deodorant, soap... like that. no problem. Well... I kept finding things that I needed to take. And clothes, kept finding their way into my suitcase. I have no idea how they kept appearing on top of my bag, but they did. They are crazy magical like that. They decided they just didn't want to be left out of the big exciting trip. So I kept folding, rolling, and stuffing. My suitcase resembled a huge casserole dish full of tightly rolled enchiladas. It's true.

After ten years of smooshing everything into my bag and closing it successfully, more things appeared on the floor next to the other suitcase, the second suitcase. The suitcase for my hunny. And his essentials weren't even packed yet.

Welcome suitcase number three. joy. just what I wanted. three whole suitcases. eh, what can you do? It is after all an eight week trip. So the packing stopped. Until Saturday morning (hours before we had to be at the airport) when it resumed.

The one thing I just don't understand is that even though we are going on the same trip, to the same place, at the same time, his suitcase didn't seem quite as snug as mine did. Why? Why is it that his suitcase wasn't an enchilada dish like mine was? Why do girls always always require more than boys do? even if it's only one or two little extras, it is still more than the boy will have. I don't get it. ... and I consider myself to be a light packer. But for an eight week trip you just can't tell what you are going to need and what you won't. What will I feel like wearing in the morning? I have no idea, and so the charade continues. Although, I did notice the suitcase my sweetie used to pack his things, it was bigger than mine! It's true. That is how I came to accept that his suitcase wasn't as stuffy as mine was merely because of the sher size of it. Way bigger than mine. And he still had to put three of his four pairs of shoes in the third suitcase. All the better.

Two big suitcases, one medium suitcase, two backpacks, one laptop case, one small handbag, and a gazillion hours later we were ready. The suitcases closed and zipped. They went downstairs. The trunk opened and in they went. And so the adventures of this summer begin...

welcome

School is out. The school for kids, that is. We have a fun new adventure to go on this summer. We are going out to Davis, California... while we are there I plan on being so incredibly productive with my school work. If my plan works, I will be successful. If the plan doesn't work, well, really it has to, that's my only option. We just found out Monday that we are leaving and we have nine days until we have to go! o my.

Since I'm actually on here, writing a post I just have to say that I feel a little bit silly for doing this. One, I don't know of a single person who would read this. Two, I feel like what I have to say is mundane. Three, I don't really have a purpose to this post. But I thought I would post something, I did after all spend a whole day figuring out how to make the blog page in the first place, i.e. procrastinating. Now that I've got all the time in the world again, here I am: procrastinating. lovely. ...maybe that is the purpose of the page. who knows. Maybe over the summer it will get really good. ... you never know what will come next...