Dear Eggman,

Escrow is coming to a close on Tuesday or Wednesday, which means we are up to our butts in packin'. I'm supposed to write an annotated bibliography on 20 books for ESL students on Monday, but I suspect it will be late.

It's 1010pm and my daughter is still on my lap, which goes to show you how screwed up our schedules all are. Tomorrow will be another death-defying day of packing and there's not a thing I can do about it.

This morning I got up around 6 because I simply couldn't sleep. I got several loads of laundry done and breakfast going. I have everything each family member needs for a week packed into their own suitcase, while we tear down the house.

Oh, and it's snowing. Again.

I forgot how long winter can be, especially when it's still showing it's ugly face in April and May. I'd peel grapes and handfeed that motherfucking groundhog if he'd guarantee me only 6 more weeks of winter.

I have all these dreams in my head about how to paint rooms. I keep finding bargain deals on paint, which is nice because I can then paint my new house for much less money than buying it full price. I'm going to buy a few things at full price -- I bought a new toilet for example. I have the bathroom floors tiled, but I got the tile on sale and got a friend of a friend to do the work. I am beginning to understand why so many people find places like Home Depot a money-sucking love hole.

I wish Mike knew how to organize stuff well. Because I know how, I'm sort of the unspoken house organizer, though I'd rather chew glass. We only have our bedroom and the kitchen left to pack. The kids's rooms are strangely bare. I keep finding things, beautiful things, like the stickers we got for Genny's weight and height when she was a baby, Russell's lost teeth, a fragile crumbly rose from my wedding bouquet, old ribbons and awards for Russell. No matter how hard I try to steel my heart against it, there are baby clothes I can simply not part with because I remember fondly the small now much larger child that inhabited them once.

I found good Chinese food in town tonight. I didn't think it was possible. And good Chinese food made me think of San Francisco. San Francisco made me think of you. Your email made me write to you, when I am barely intelligible just because I love you and email from dear friends is invariably inspiring despite my exhaustion level on any given day or late night.

How's it hangin', M?

Luurrve,
Wendy