settling in

Mom just called me out for not blogging, so I'd best post something to prove to those far away that, yes, I'm still chugging along. It's a bit harder (the blogging, not the act of living itself) when one does not yet have internet access at home -- actually, I have, officially, had a wired home for about an hour now; not that it's done me any good yet -- but I'll ramble here for a few minutes. Whoops, my boss just walked by as I was typing away on the blog. Oh, well. My annual review isn't until October. :)

At the new homestead, unpacking is going slowly but surely. It's fun to establish new routines and cubby-holes for things that we didn't really have room for before. On the new routines: Our two-car garage (!!We have a garage!! I've never had a garage. The automatic garage door opener is acting up. I couldn't care less -- we actually HAVE A GARAGE!!) is still fairly full of junk, so we've been parking our car in our driveway (!!We have a DRIVEWAY!!). It's been so cold, though -- for D.C., mind you, okay -- that ol' Betsy is acting up a little in the morning. Just a little. She doesn't want to idle for us, to warm up. One of us has to be in the driver's seat, giving it some gas, for the first couple of minutes. I was complaining about this to one of our new neighbors, SuperSam. About how it feels a little treacherous to actually accelerate while we're backing down our steepish driveway in the morning, to keep the motor running; how, otherwise, it will stall and then the steering wants to lock up. He listened thoughtfully, then said: "Yeah, I know what you mean. How about if you backed it up the driveway when you got home at night?" I stood gaping, dumbfounded at the obvious and brilliant solution to a pesky problem. It's good to have friends. Especially smart ones!

At this point, we've unpacked and sort of put away most of the obvious stuff, leaving us with boxes of random junk that we haven't found a place for or haven't urgently needed over the past five days. (let that be your hint; I know, I know.) With great ceremony, we unpacked most of the wedding gifts that we didn't dare get out in our smaller space before. Such fun! All of these new things. We hung our fabulous Rebecca Tiffany art last night, and it is way too good for even our new home. WAY too good. Seriously, it's about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. We'll have to commission some to keep it in good company.

Lizzy told us yesterday that she'd rather move back to the old house. Matt couldn't believe it, until I explained that I figured it's because we've been Ferberizing her 4-year-old self. Yes. She'd been sleeping with me -- Not That There's Anything Wrong With That, except that Matt would rather share a bed with his wife, and he promises not to do the perpendicular position things that Lizzy loves, when her head or feet are firmly wiggled into the small of my back (though she does snore less) -- but now that we have a new house, and are thinking about having another baby one of these years, we want to get her using her own room and bed. You know, so that when I toss her out of bed because I'm pregnant, or to give the baby room, she won't build up a pathological resentment for the second-born. As if that's ever avoidable. In any case, we'll have her hating the house, instead of the sibling. Hm... So far, five nights in her own bed, and counting. Or is it six? Something like that. She still wakes up and cries for me in the middle of the night, but I am quite content to tell her to stuff it and get back in her own bed. Mommy can be so mean when her sleep is being compromised. (just ask Matt when he snores.)

Poor Matt. He says a house just isn't a home without TV service. Hee! That might be awhile in coming. A certain telephone/internet/cable provider, who employs James Earl Jones as its spokesperson, is giving us a bit of runaround. It could be a couple of weeks. I've already warned SuperSam and WonderDee that they might be receiving visitors on the doorstep during American Idol hours. I don't want to push my House and e.r. addictions on them, but A.I.? Must-have.

Speaking of Matt: He was up until 3 a.m. Again. In theory, this proposal he's helping his boss with should end sometime, but it's for the government, so maybe it won't ever. I hope it does, though. It really stinks for him right now. Poor guy. And ... he'll be 30 next week! He doesn't seem too concerned. Maybe dating/marrying someone 5 1/2 years older than yourself leads you to fret about your age a wee bit less. He's got less hair than me, but I'll always have more gray.