Another moving day.

Not emotionally moving . . . well, actually a little emotionally moving, but mostly physically moving. Have you ever seen that bumper sticker that says, "Yes, it's my truck. No, I won't help you move."? Man-squared needs one. For the second time in two weeks, he is helping one of his sisters move out.

Leah got a job teaching at a great secondary school about an hour north of us, and unlike the other half million people in our area, she is not a fan of commuting. In fact, she gets pretty twisted about it. Easily stressed out. Hot under the collar.  Really, her blood boils. So as quickly as she could, she found an apartment not too far from school and the church she'll be going to up there. She went last weekend and took just enough to get her through the first week. She's been sleeping on two foam pads on the floor.

So she came down Friday after work, got a chiropractic adjustment Saturday morning, and today after church she and Man-squared loaded her car and his truck with almost all the rest of her stuff, and off they went. Man-squared is probably glad he's out of sisters. I know he's glad to get the bathroom back to himself.

 After watching the two girls move out, I'm wondering how we ever got all three of them in that room. It may be one of the great mysteries of life, but I think the "stuff" procreates while we're not looking. In scientific terms, girls are like a gas: they fill the available space.

 I can tell you everybody is glad Man-squared has a full-size truck. 

In other news, I made tostadas for dinner today—first time since 1997—and quickly remembered why I haven't made them in 15 years. They taste delicious, but they're the most impossible things to eat.

Basically you take a crisp corn tortilla, smear it with refried beans, and top it with shredded chicken or beef, chopped tomatoes, lettuce, shredded cheese, sour cream, and salsa. Sounds good, right? Now try to eat it. Take a bite and the tortilla disintegrates. Sour cream goes up your nose, and you use every available finger to push the stuff back on what's left of the shell. If I'd had a clean hand, I would have taken pictures. We all agreed we would not have them for dinner when Grandma comes. Or the admiral.

Somehow, though, none of that stops us from eating way too much. So now I'm going to go sleep off my food coma.

Be thankful ~