My ass is being kicked by a 20 pound, grey-eyed cutie. She only wants to sleep with me. If she can't sleep with me, she'll fall asleep but then wake up and realize, hey, no mama. I must shriek my head off now. She's been sleeping in our bed. Which thrills TCBIM no end. She can't be moved into Boo's room just yet though, because...
...my in-laws are arriving in a week, which means I will mainly be spending the Labour Day weekend cleaning my stupid house. It's not filthy, it's just cluttered. It's amazing how much paper accumulates. Where the hell does it come from? I open the mail over the trash so that all that crappe goes right into the bin. And yet I'm inundated with papers. And books. I've been trying to weed them out, but it's a chore and a half because I constantly think "I might want to read that again some day." And then the book sits there, taking up space, or worse, I do re-read them and then that pile of books, which, really, is less of a pile and more like an entire book case, starts glaring at me and muttering, "Oh sure, she reads that again, but what about us? What are we, chopped fucking liver? I swear, we should all just fall on her one of these days, that'd show her who's boss." Shaddup, books. I have a two year-old. I know who's boss.
One reassuring thing: I watched a couple of episodes of How Clean Is Your House today on BBCAmerica and doods, my house is fucking immaculate compared to those places. They were downright scary.
Also. I was thrilled to find that Cash In The Attic is still on - at 5:30 in the morning. Thank god for TiFaux. I have a thing for Alistair Appleton. I know he's gay, but damn, the man is lovely.