This is my lunch break.

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.