Blog? What blog?

I've been meaning to do a post on the state of my life right now. I've taken pictures, documenting the giant pile of gravel that was deposited in my driveway, the little digger/scooper thingie that was parked next to that pile for several days, the huge hole that was dug behind my house, the pile of dirt from said hole, the mud created by said machines, piles of dirt and gravel and the dog both in my driveway and in my house. I've photographed each stage of the basement-fixing process, down to the brand new cement that is where said giant hole used to be.

The gravel's gone and in its place there is now a humongous snowmobile trailer currently being filled with all of our belongings. (I'm still of the mind that being over 30 brings with it no other advantages other than to never again have to call and round up friends to move your shit, but apparently Mommy doesn't always win.)

I've taken pictures and even video of our house as its being packed up. There is literally lawn furniture where our comfy living room couches used to be and the dining room echoes now that the piano is gone and there is nothing hanging on the walls. I've taken pictures of my kids playing on, around and in boxes, as well as the two of them laughing like crazy people while jumping on mattresses that are on the floor.

Oddly, I just can't seem to find the time to download, manipulate and upload those pictures. So I'm offering you this artist's rendition of my life right now:

We've spent every spare moment of our lives meeting people, writing them checks and generally signing our lives away. When we're not busy doing that, well, we're packing shit in boxes. And yes, there is logic to packing throw pillows with bar glasses, I swear it. I just might also be swearing at myself while unpacking it all next week.

I'm sick of take-out food, and I think my ass has gained two new friends because of it. Their names are Laverne and Shirley, and they live down the street just north of my badonkadonk. Yes friends, back fat. Its never pretty.

Honestly? My freaking two-year-old asked for Taco Bell last night. How sick is that?!?

My four-year-old? Woke up crying at o-dark-thirty, pissed as all get out that Mommy was packing up all his toys. This morning he told me he was angry with me. "Mommy, you're bad. You make me ANGRY." Great. I'm feelin' the love.

I'm not about to get into work crap right now, but let's just say I also woke up from a bad dream this morning. One in which I was in a meeting with IT folks who were yelling at me and doing a lot of head shaking at my requests for what I needed to do my job. I've lived this bad dream many times lately.

I am so beyond stressed I can't even form a thought or an opinion on anything, except to say that I watched Glee for the first time this week and, well, that's an hour of my life that's been sucked from my soul that I'll never get back. (Did dude really sing The Thong Song?!?)

So that, in not so much of a nutshell, is my life right now.

Who's pouring the drinks?