Killing time

We are in the final countdown to 7th grade. I'm trying to get The Child to pack his backpack with supplies.... Actually, no: I thought we were done with this about 5 hours ago and just walked in here again and noticed his "5 pocket folders with clips" are still sitting on the desk. Dork.

That paragraph may be enough explanation of why I'm reading a book called The Organized Student. He'd rather watch cartoons. "Later..."

[I know, I know]

Meanwhile, the Beast is snoring (quietly) in his recliner. Church took a toll on him this morning. Our pews are very Presbyerian; that is, uncomfortable in the extreme.

I've gotten the youth group stuff sorted out, ready to post tomorrow. I've made a list of other things I need to deal with tomorrow. I'm waiting to order our Sunday evening pizza.

Generally, life is very good. Maybe I'm just happy that Sparky's off at school tomorrow between 7:30 and 4, and Beast is at work from 8 or so until he can't take it anymore. The house will be MINE tomorrow! Picture me rubbing my hands together like an evil scientist.

'Course, I won't hardly be here to appreciate it ... oh well.

We met our 'new' (only 3 months in their house, right behind us!) neighbors last night, and inspected a partially built house in the next subdivision. Still like our house best, though.

Uh-oh, Sparky's now ready to clear off his desk/homework space. There is literally stuff cascading in 5 directions off of it. I should talk: mine isn't cascading...yet. Part of the problem is that he moves to mine when his desk becomes unusable. Anyway, I don't think I should be in here while he does that; I tend to 'help.' Which ends badly most of the time.