Just Call Me Scarlett

I am odd. Either that, or eternally normal. But I've digressed already and I've just begun this post. I'll back up...

I've been out of town with Abby for a week. (A truly delightful trip but more on that another time.) When the sun sets this Thursday, the contents of my family's and my life will be packed into a moving van or our minivan. We will be without a homestead for one and a half months--we will vagabond across the country, heading to our new city. A fairly obvious statement follows:

I have a shit load to do.

And the three things that I've added to my to do list, the things that have to be done immediately?

1. Clip Henry's finger nails
2. Cut Abby's hair
3. Plan last minute birthday party for Abby

I'm simultaneously proud that I'm putting my children's needs on the top of my list and embarrassed that I'm so blinded and paralyzed by the looming, ugly moving agenda that I'm hiding behind these simple grooming (and celebratory) tasks. True, Henry can't claw his way cross-country, and Abby's slimy, green hair is taking on a life of its own, but maybe I should be orchestrating the intricate, pressing details of our next six weeks...

Gotta dash. Balloons, snaggly nails and scraggly hair have won. Fiddle-dee-dee.