Buried

First off, thanks to all the well-wishes for Dudley… my little canine companion is nearly recovered.   He’s a little “mellow” still, but he has once again noticed the  herons on our pier and is giving them a run for their money.

I however, after 48 hours or so of dog-nursing, am way behind on the unpacking and cleaning.   I have spent every spare moment (read: when Kenny is sleeping) working on it, and yet the laundry pile is looming, the spider webs on the ceiling are growing and the floor is spattered with sippy-cup refuse.   There is still an unopened box in my closet and a pile of clean clothes with no place to go on the floor.   I am a neat-freak.   I can’t deal with this much longer.

In spite of my frenzied pace, Kenny and I are having fun re-aquianting ourselves with life on the water.   We have traipsed down the side yard in chase of ducks, gone to  a playgroup and had some friends over to play.   We have also re-aquainted ourselves with the fact that it takes half an hour or more to get anywhere around here.   We have suddenly found ourselves in the car a lot more than we’d like to be.   Kenny, in fact, fell asleep in the backseat out of boredom today a mere one minute from our house, and then had no inclination whatsoever to take a real nap once inside the house.

As for me, it’s back to the grind.   I want to cry when I look at my master bathroom in the state it’s in.   Remind me to hire a maid before we move houses again next year.