I can no longer come up with creative school lunches. If it’s in a paper sack and includes a bag of chips, it’s lunch.
The laundry now has its own address. If it’s not moving on its own, it’s clean.
The cupboard is bare and I don’t have time to go the grocery store. Spinach and peanut butter are a balanced meal, get over it.
I’m really, really ready to run away to my dream home in the mountains, a little cabin far away, with no phone, no TV, ma-a-aa-ybe Internet, no neighbors, no traffic and my groceries delivered by pack mule once a month.
Of course, I’ve probably done this to myself. Every day that the sun is shining and the wind is less than 15 mph, we’ve been outside soaking up sunshine before the gray cloud cap of winter is clamped on top of us.
The pile of pinecones collected for decorating and making bird feeders has grown to monumental proportions. Squirrels are knocking on our door asking for handouts.
The cut greenery, obtained on our hikes and strewn on cabinet tops, doorways, and anyplace else I can hang it, has reached the level that I received a letter from the Fire Marshall about the hazards of kindling in the house.
I’m testing the limits of sugar coma. How many gallon bags of Chex puppy chow and marshmallow Santas can I devour before I explode or pass out?
Time to get back in the traces, jingle my bells, and run like hell. Santa’s on the way.
You may follow Traci at her blog: The Adventures of Mother Nature, found at http://momonvacation.blogspot.com
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