Thinkingoftakingthenextyearoff.Kidding.No,Really.Ayear.(Maybe.)

Know why? Because I’m MOVING AGAIN, while sick, with all the burly men in my life either traveling or missing in action. Didn’t I do this four months ago? SHOOT ME.

I hear the POD with all my furniture in it that has been sitting in a warehouse in Oakland all this time has been dropped at the new place, and I hope to jeepers that the padlock key on my key ring is the one that opens the POD. Seriously. It could open the POD, the storage unit, or my kid’s school locker. No telling.

So that’s where I am these days, trying to be out of this house tonight, maybe tomorrow, and have enough furniture moved in to sleep there by the weekend.

(Remember to do the school runs. Remember to do the school runs. Remember to do the school runs.)

QOTD

Guy and I were just sitting in line at the car wash, staring at nothing, when we noticed that the sixties throwback two cars ahead of us had gotten bored and decided to check a few things on his gold on black 1969 Mercury Cougar. He sauntered around the back, contemplated the tires, handlebar mustache glistening in the sun. His belt buckle reflected off the chrome.

He decided to test out his souped-up shocks. 

He stopped and pushed down on each rear fender like a mattress salesman during a Labor Day Weekend sale at Sleeptrain. Satisfied, he circled back around to the driver’s seat and waited his turn in line, no doubt needing to refuel on the way out.

Guy caught me staring and said, “Yep, that’s what’s out there. Remember that next time I’m getting’ on your nerves.” 

QOTD

Back to School Night, fifth grade classroom:

Me: Hey! It’s great to see our boys are in the same class this year! We’ll have to set up reciprocal play dates. Or play weeks. Whatever.

Her: Yup. We got each other’s back.

Me: Oh, I’m probably moving to Scotts Valley, though, could tomorrow maybe, I think.

Another mom, overhearing: That sounds…cavalier.

Me: Yeah, well, that’s how I roll.

I’m serious, people. If I like this house we look at this afternoon, I will whip out a pen and some cash and rent it on the spot. It has five bedrooms, a pool, hot tub, basketball net in the driveway, a park down the street, and TWO FLOORS. That means Separation of Adults and Kids. Maybe. Sometimes. Oh how I long for everyone to have their own rooms, even me.

Sure, I’ll have to vacuum it, but it’s better than living with construction and paying a fortune in storage.  The real challenge will be juggling six children. See above: the pool. Have to wear those puppies out.

Pop quiz: why put beige wall-to-wall carpet in the only entry room from the pool? Anyone? Anyone?

QOTD

Logan: Mom, I just misspelled “achievement.”

Me: Um, I wouldn’t put that in your resume.

Logan: The resume is already done.

Me: God job, then.

And just now, reading over my shoulder: “What are you, a Joketologist?”

puts food on the table, buddy

QOTD

Doctor, peering through otoscope: “An ear infection? Really? You’re too old to have ear infections.”

Me: “Yes. Thank you.”

So it’s a good thing the owner pulled out of our leasing contract after we signed because, hey, who wants to pack with an earache and sinuses full of hot, wet cement? (Pointing thumbs at chest) “Not this guy!”

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