That's what it feels like.  Every day we pack up and drive down to our vacant, spotless-but-dusty, please-God-somebody-buy-this house, listen to the baseball game on the radio, sleep on the airbeds in the uncurtained guest room, wake at first light (me) sleep until at least 8 (him), and then drive home where I begin another long day on the porch swing.

My ass hurts from this thing.

Then I try to figure out what to do who to visit how to fill up a day without going in the house.  My little kitty cries from the other side of the window and I feel like a bad mother.  I cheated and went in to pet her for a little while earlier, but the paint fumes are bad.  The paint looks fabulous though.

I have been wearing the same outfit since??? Tuesday?  whatever day this started.  Maybe this is good practice for having a newborn.  I only have a few things that fit and my husband can't find any of them since everything is moved around for the painters and because he is a man and what is it?  with men?  they can't find anything? 

Although I make it worse because my husband will say "have you seen my quarter inch drill bits?  The business card for the broker we met three years ago?  My high school yearbook?" and for no good reason I just have this memory of seeing it and I say without thinking "under the sweaters on the left side of the tall shelf of the closet" or "behind the spare tire in the car" and of course he thinks I am some kind of witch who knows where everything is, even things I have never seen before, and so he always, always asks me where things are instead of just : FINDING them.  He is at the store right now buying more cat food because he can't find the cat food we already have and I know I will walk into the kitchen

Someday… I'll be able to walk into my own kitchen…

and I will find the errant cat food in three seconds. 

My husband just now called from the store for help picking out the cat food.

Sigh.  I keep thinking with my children I'll stop my enabling ways.  I'll say "It's wherever you left it," and then wait for them to find it.  But we both know I won't, because making them find their own crap will be the difference between missing and making the bus, and if they miss it I have to drive them, and when I drive and drop them off I'll go the wrong way in the drop off lane and the other mothers will disapprove of me, but if they make the bus I'll get at least a little bit of time to myself.  Or something.

Anyway.  If you drive by and you see me in the porch swing wearing the blue shirt and the red shorts, just know that 1) I HAVE been showering, at least; and 2) how do you know I don't have 10 each of these shorts and this shirt, I like them, so mind your own beeswax and 3) It's out of my control.

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