Okay, all of y’all who write the journals I read, stop it right now! Stop writing, stop updating all the time, ’cause I’m more than a week behind, and when I open Eudora and see all those notify updates winking and waving at me, I feel like I’m drowning in the written word.

So you will kindly stop having lives and updating until I am caught up. Thanks s’much.

(You understand, of course, that if I were already caught up on my journal reading, I’d be bitching about how no one updates often enough.)

At dinner Sunday night (red beans and rice, if you must know) Fred imitated the spud, who was laughing dorkily at something that wasn’t the slightest bit funny, (don’t feel sorry for her; she loves it when he imitates her) and in his imitation he resembled nothing so much as a demented horse. I almost shot a red bean out of my nose, I was laughing so hard.

For Mother’s Day, I received a lovely bouquet of yellow roses residing in matching yellow smiley-face mugs:

Perfect for me, yes? Fred apparently called the florist, told them how much he wanted to spend and told them to make it as yellow as possible. The two halves of the bouquet were nestled on a styrofoam platform covered in yellow ribbon.

A lovely, lovely surprise.

So, it appears that we may (or may not) be about to put the house on the market. We’re unhappy with both the amount of money we’re paying out for the mortgage every month, plus the tiny, tiny amount of land we’re on (though perhaps we should have thought of that before we put the pool in?). We’ve been discussing moving away from town, to a somewhat smaller house on a bigger piece of land. There’s a realtor coming to talk to us in about ten minutes, so that should be fun, considering how much I love and adore realtors.

For the record, it’s been almost exactly two years since we last put the house on the market, left it there for two months, and then decided not to sell, because we couldn’t find any houses we liked as much as this one. I’m sure the neighbors will be rolling their eyes when (if) they see the "For Sale" sign in our yard again.

I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to having strangers traipse through the house, opening drawers and doors, and scaring the shit out of the cats, but I’m ready for more land and less house. As I’ve told Fred, this house just doesn’t feel like home to me, no matter what I do. I’ve been ready to sell for a while now, but Fred needed to do his tightly choreographed Dance O’ Fear before he came to the same conclusion.

Of course, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that it was my idea to take the house off the market last time, and all but badgered Fred to agree.

This time, however, I’m ready to stick to it.

I think.