I should be packing some more boxes.
I should be vacuuming where we're getting the carpet cleaned this afternoon, should be making some chocolate chip cookies for the family to enjoy, should be fine tuning the last of the closet makeovers.
Should be, should be, should be.
But instead I am trolling the Internet, reading new blogs, wondering when these moms have the time to be such good writers and sighing with contentment at Container Store pornography: organized closets and home offices.
(I wrote a paper in grad school once that featured the phrase "I should have..." and my professor hated it. She said it denotes too much self- judgement. I don't remember much from the class, but I remember that and like it.)
The kids are great: two safely back in school after a playdate-filled week off and one taking a nap after a surprisingly good night's sleep. I only woke up once at 2:30am, practically hanging from the ceiling like a ferral cat, convinced Alec was dead. He's not.
Dan is back at work.
The house is quiet.
Life is good.
And it should be.