Blue Painter's Tape

Kelly's BFF's dad was over last night. He is now officially our contractor. It was quite fun talking about all the things he wants to do in our kitchen, because we'd get to some big decision, or turning point, or 'this could get sticky' and he'd say "Whatever we decide on this, know that my first priority is making sure that at the end of things, our daughters are still best friends."

There is 2 inch wide blue painters tape all over one wall, and the floor. It even extends down into the family room, where it's stuck onto the carpet.

Yikes.

Things will be different.

I'm excited about the zone that will soon be Ken's 'baking center'. It should look like an old piece of furniture.

I'm wondering if I will regret carving two feet out of our already not-so-gigantic family room. Or if it really is a good idea to replace the big awkward-because-they're-not-quite-tall-enough sliding glass doors (Ken has to duck going through them) with a single taller-yet-narrower regular kitchen door.

Should I really encourage all the splurging on my built-in desk with hidden peripheral charging station? I've done fine on the old Ikea scratch-n-dent desk that used to be Skip's. Almost too fine, if you consider how high the piles are on this puppy.

I'm bummed that the microwave couldn't go in the eat-in area. That would've been ideal for the kids, what with all their Magic Bag heating-up that they want to do (right now, the microwave is too high for all but Skip to handle).

I'm pretty pleased that my new choice for a range hood will be much, much cheaper than was budgeted, though. And I'll get an extra set of cupboards out of the deal as a result.

Today is the day.

Today, I begin boxing up stuff that we just won't need.

And along the way? I'll be ridding out. It's time to go all Fly Lady on the crap we've accumulated over the past 19 years of marriage. Do I *really* need to be keeping those 72 sub-par cookbooks that were wedding and shower presents? Oh, the sentiment will probably get to me on a few of them, but really? I just don't look at most of them any more.

And magazines? Say bye-bye, babies. I'm pretty sure I've got stacks of those that I haven't looked at in three years.

If I give them away, I don't have to store them. OR find places for them in the New Order.

Hey, I might even start tossing stuff out of the pantry.

It's about time for a purge of ancient foodstuffs. Before someone opens a bag and says "Mom, is Pirate Booty SUPPOSED to smell like this?" Yikes.

Uh oh. School in 10 minutes, and the kids are still in jammies (except Skip, who's already been at school for an hour and a bit. Jazz Band. Ouch. My brain hurts.)

PS. I am running on Very Little Sleep. Last night, I had to kill an African lioness (not a lion with the full mane, that would've been TOO hard) with my bare hands and teeth (they bleed really hard when you bite their ear off) on the roof of Pioneer Woman's (do you read her blog? You should! It's fantastic!) new Lodge. We were there for the housewarming, and it was lovely - except for the one window that didn't close, letting in the lioness. Sheesh. I thought Marlboro Man would've dispatched the critter when she went for Ken's sleeping form, but sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands. And then I got lion blood all over my trousers, and had to put them in her snazzy new washing machine, but that left me wearing a t-shirt (long, thankfully) and knickers, and she wanted to take photos of me for her blog, but she said they'd be tasteful, so I had to quickly wash up but all I could find in the spare rooms in the loft of the Lodge were piles of lawn furniture. Ex. Haust. Ing! And then I woke up. And I was still exhausted. But at least there wasn't a lion in our bedroom.