But I Can Dance a Jig

I picked an excellent time to give up soda. 

Oh, dear.  See, I depend on the caffeinated, bubbly, sugary devil-in-a-can to get me through any given situation.  But it has also gotten me into pants that are two sizes bigger than what I'd like to be wearing.  I am probably also well on my way to making myself a diabetic.  Add in the wonderful example I'm setting for my kids, and there are the fantastic triple-crown reasons (I was going to use "trifecta" but it didn't seem right, and yet, I can't get away from the horse-racing lingo) why I ought to let go of my very naughty habit.

And now here we are, heading towards a move.  A move!  I need a Dr. Pepper. 

No!  I don't need a Dr. Pepper!  I must tell myself this over and over and over.  I need boxes, that's what I need.  And a professional organizer.  Also, a dumpster.  And some caffeine!

No.  No to the caffeine.  Get a grip!

Do you ever talk to yourself?  Are you wondering right now if I'm speaking to you, reader of this blog, or to myself, since I actually do talk to myself, even in public forums? 

Since I never promised coherent or well-thought out posts (did I?  I don't think I did.) then I'm just going to babble.  I need to fold laundry.  Is anyone surprised about that?  I should think not.  I also need to do the dishes.  My dear, sweet daughter Michaela emptied the dishwasher this morning, and I think I owe it to her to load it up tonight.  Not just so she'll have something to do when she wakes up, but also to honor her for all of her hard work. 

I cleaned out my car tonight because I volunteered to take the boys to karate.  Right after I said I would do the driving, I realized you couldn't walk through to the back of the van.  AT ALL.  It was a sight to behold.  We had done some running around the days before our trip to Virginia, and eaten in the car a bit.  Apparently we also did some disrobing in there, since I not only filled up one garbage bag with actual trash (gross!), but another with clothes of various kinds...including socks, a hoodie, coats, and some khaki pants. 

Those boys were so loud that when we got to the dojo, I couldn't even get their attention to say,"Get out."  I hollered back to where they were wrestling,"I AM NOT DRIVING YOU GUYS AGAIN!"  I may have added,"If you scream like that," but I can't remember.  I was busy trying to keep my head from spontaneously combusting.  I was already exasperated because we couldn't find Christian's jacket for his gi (the uniform) or his belt.  What I really don't understand is my memory of washing and folding the thing, along with his pants, which I did find in a laundry basket at the foot of my bed.  Augggh!! 

My best guess is that part of his uniform ended up in a crazy place because the last time he had karate was the night that I went to a special dinner for a friend, and Mike had a Bible study.  Mike picked Christian up and went to drop the kids off with a friend for the evening, and the truck died.  I went to pick them up, Mike dropped me off at my dinner, and then took the kids with him to his Bible study (at someone's house).  I'm hoping that the missing pieces are at this lady's home.  Maybe along with my sanity? 

I doubt it.  My sanity is long gone.  But what I lack in mental stability I make up for with some really sweet dance moves.  Those Riverdancers got nothin' on me.  Just ask my mom.