Honest. The baby, bless her, is sleeping. The muffins are baking, there's a load in the wash and one in the dryer and the dishes---for the moment---are done. The house looks like it exploded while I was running carpool, and I decidedly do not have time to be blogging around.
But here I am, because, frankly, if I wait till the boxes are unpacked, the forms are filled out, and the kids are in bed, I'll never post another blog entry. And that would be a bad thing for me, on so very many levels. (Speaking of bad things, I took my trusty laptop in to be repaired this morning and the guy laughed. Out loud. Bad thing.)
I'll be cruising along, mid-life, and say to myself, "Gotta blog about this." And then, as I begin to drift off to sleep, "Oh, dang. Didn't blog. Perhaps I should wriggle out from under my three blankets in the Coldest Bedroom Known to Man (and wake a sleeping kidlet or two in the process, no doubt) so I can dash downstairs, stumble over husband's yet-as-unpacked "office" boxes, and post something now?" Not so much.
But I feel like I should tell you about what happened this morning while I was washing dishes. I looked down, saw a funny grayish squiggle on a supper plate, and thought: "A crack? Nah, it's washing off. Oh, I guess it's ballpoint pen." I finished scrubbing the rest of the similarly-anointed plates, set them in the rack to dry, and did a belated double-take. Did I actually form that thought and continue about my business without so much as batting an eyelash? Because that, my friends, cannot be a good sign. It reminds me of the time I turned to my middle son---who was old enough to know better, but not much---and said sternly, "We don't put pencils in people's ears." I was completely unfazed by this remark, but the receptionist with whom I was making an appointment at the time couldn't decide whether to crack up or call Child Protective Services.