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All these posts

Somewhere in space are all these posts that people write.  I've had this blog for years now and I hardly ever use it but it's still always here.  Who is that person that finally says, "Okay, enough is enough. Your blog is gone."?

I'm tired.  It's Saturday afternoon at 4pm.  I'd like to nap longer or watch a movie.  I don't want to play chu chu train and I don't want to take a slow toddler paced walk outside.  I don't want to start making pizza but I should, which means I need to go buy tomato paste, make the sauce and make the crust.  I'm feeling lazy and a hard thing with being a parent is that when you're lazy, others in your life have the potential to starve.

We're looking at buying a house.  It's not an easy thing to do when the house is on one side of the globe while you're on the other.  When I want to get something done, I want it done now.  So, that's making this process hard.  We're at the mercy of eastern standard time zone.  When we wake up in the mornings we have emails from the folks that we wrote while they were sleeping and they wrote back while we were.  It just makes the process seem so slow.  The worst, is when you have to leave a call back number, then you know this is really going to get slow.  I'm surprised how banks actually make it hard to get a loan.  It seems to go against all I've ever believed about banks and about the American dream of becoming horribly in debt.  Just writing this out is making me even sleepier.

I really want this house though.  I think I do.  I spent time on the Home Depot site yesterday looking at flooring and counter tops.  It's so fun.  At the same time, I'm not even real sure of the layout of the kitchen and does fake granite counter tops go well with unfinished concrete floors?  Really, the floors are concrete.  The house needs a lot of work.  A lot of work.  A friend walked through the house the other day and she told me that she had a panic attack for us.  What a friend.

Well, now it's 4:25.  I need to struggle to get a toddler boy's shoes and socks on, force him to wear a coat, negotiate about the number of cars we can take with us, get over to the store (a short walk really), and then all the other steps it will take to get supper on the table.  The other night the Indians lost the World Series and Phil was glad he's not an alcoholic.  I'm thinking the same thing about myself right now.  But maybe I can find some chocolate....

   

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