We are packing, packing, packing, painting, painting, painting and everyone keeps asking How's it all going? and I keep saying Great! until I remember that I offered John fifty cents if he would remind me of his piano lesson on Wednesday.
When the seven-year-old is in charge of the family calendar, you're on thin ice, no two ways about it.
Lots of plates to keep spinning, and I think it is all just a touch easier now that the sun has started to shine once again. Two weeks of molton skies and drizzle didn't help anyone's mood. Vitamin D, we need you!
Anyway . . . pondering lots of things -- paint samples and room dimensions, the kids' academic progress or lack thereof, fitness or lack thereof, aging parents, the power of prayer, why my skin looks as bad as it does, how Lord Grantham has evolved (devolved?) into such an insufferable windbag, surprised that I'm beginning to love Baxter and even Mosely when he acts like a man and not a nine-year-old in the principal's office.
Head over to Rachel's for Downton conspiracy theories and lively discussion.
Back to packing, packing, packing, painting, painting, painting.