A critic is a legless man who teaches running...

Two weeks into this solo...well, if solo includes two kids, two cats, and a dog. I always was bad at math. We had a great weekend filled with visitors, I've got the photos to prove it. So it's safe to say I'm exhausted. Since it has been two weeks I was informed that the poop needed to be picked up outside (from the husband) that the dog had deposited. Of every set of words he has ever said to me, "pick up dog poop" may very well be right at the bottom of my "happy" list. I say "may" because I fear other words could show up at some point, and I don't want to deprive those words of being at the bottom. He also told me to climb up on top of the camper and sweep off the roof and the tops of the slide outs, which was met with a boisterous "HA" because....no. I do not like heights. He better hope for some high winds...or a studious squirrel...
We leave in six days. Our neighbor is also leaving Saturday, headed to Afghanistan. So I suppose it's good. My husband says he misses us, though I have to wonder if what he misses is our incredibly comfy (per Jessica) bed, complete with a house that is not home to a baying hound dog...just a thought. I've been wrong before.
I've been told I'm cynical.
My children are learning not to slam doors. Slamming doors here backfires. They are sliding doors, and the effect which "slamming" is intended to have...doesn't. Rather, the door- when launched at an appropriate speed, will ricochet off the opposite frame and back into their face. It's incredibly amusing. Unless I'm mad. Then not so much. If I've mentioned that before, sorry. I'm getting to "that age."