Stir Me Crazy.

With little desire to write, I spill too many words and smother all.

I am tired but content. Two girls peacefully sleeping means a dim-lit bath and music full of memories, and now I sit, squeaky clean, listening to the Songs: Ohia record that John gave me for Tax Day. (My first-heard and favorite song of Jason Molina's-- The Lioness-- can be heard here.) We either deliberately gave our c.d. copy to Mister B. Boyd E. a few years back or lost it in one of our shuffles from place to place, so John replaced it in superior form. Vinyl or bust.

That same Heart is off throwing people into volcanoes (Board Game Night Abroad). On nights like tonight, when Susannah obliges, waiting for his cominghome is my time of quiet, which I'm now heedlessly spending by feeding pictures to this greedy beast. (Bursting shotsnaps belly.)

John is honing in on two potential jobs, and we continue to look, with hope, for a place to live while we prepare the Nanticoke land for house-raising. In the meantime, we walk around a giant, plastic desk in order to sort through a ridiculous amount of belongings. We spent the day indoors, missing the sun and breeze that teased us from the window. I hunched in front of the computer hunting down details we need in order to move, while the girls eyed agog every last inch of their new desk.

Yep, a new desk. It's funny. After nearly drowning in things we don't even care about, John and I have been slowly weeding through things and sending bags and boxes to thrift stores. He sorts through books with a ruthless eye, and I steel myself to do the same. In a few days, we'll begin uprooting our hideous thrift store/road-found furniture and transplanting them to the side of the road to be found anew by treasure-seekers or garbage men. It's only now, preparing for a someday move, that our home will begin to look filled instead of unpleasantly overstuffed. So, of course, it was today that one of John's co-workers handed down a giant, rich-kids desk for the girls. I scoured it bleach-clean and put it in the living room, where it obscures half of a wall and devours more than it should of our vanishing living room floor. The girls are delighted! So be it.

And now, with hearts a'pound from your vicarious living of today's non-adventure, what are you waiting for? Move on to the glut of snapshots!

*Honest Update: Though the bath was luxurious (as baths become rare when comes motherhood), it was regrettably cut short after five minutes due to Susannah rolling off the pillow I'd placed her belly upon. Loud-voiced displeasure, and her gruntings continue even at quarter-past eleven. The Wren....right. Night Owl, rather.

p.s. I'm not complaining. She is dear even when she grunts past midnight, and I thank the Great Giver for His gift. (I also thank Him for a husband who snatched her from me last night, garnering me seven straight hours of sleep. Hoo Boy!)