Green at Last

Man, I hate cleaning up... the in-laws were just out at the farm for lunch and I sit here on the computer looking over to a load of mess and dishes in the kitchen and can't pull myself up to roll in there and take care of it. Especially not after I spent the morning hustling up and down a ladder into the attic to retrieve the tubs and tubs I had stored up there waiting for the day when I would be able to fit the clothes stored inside of them again. When they hit my garage sale in a few weeks, I will be officially doing what some refer to as "giving up the ghost."

As I unpacked, sorted and reloaded, I convinced myself that even if I do manage to squeeze myself into a size six again, surely those black velvet Brooks Brother slacks will be long out of style (classic though they may be.) A ton of stuff is packed by the door and ready to haul into town for the big sale. I had to enlist a girlfriend to help me manage the crowds the day of because the Hub has gracefully bowed out of helping me. Apparently he is allergic to haggling with strangers over 25 cent Happy Meal toys. He thinks people who go to garage sales are crazy. He is convinced that people will be ringing our doorbell at 6 o'clock in the morning and screaming at us. Since I've never in my life run a yard sale before, I have no idea what it is gonna be like. All I know is that it will be nice to have some pocket money in NYC, and it will be nice to be free of some junk we have sitting around collecting dust.

Other than that, the weekend at the farm has consisted of the Hub working on his Wagoneer/building the porch stairs/ managing the garden, the Bub swimming in his kiddie pool/collecting feathers from the wild turkey his uncle shot and plucked/going to no less than two birthday parties, and Me... making meals/wishing my mother happy birthday (Happy Birthday Meems!)/sorting through the jeans of Christmas past.

And all the while, outside, Texas is changing before my eyes...