You know how I'm always saying moronic things like "hey! come live at Trout Towers! We'll build a yurt! Plenty-o-room!"?
We have someone staying at Trout Towers. We shall call her The Queen Mum.*
Which brings our tally to:
One Queen Mum
Two Us (because we still live here though marginally)**
A Quantity of Mice
And it's kind of awesome.
How, you ask, can it be kind of awesome? Because Chris loves The Queen Mum more than he loves me. Or perhaps he is more deeply shamed by her. At any rate, he scampered out and bought screens for our windows and now, as of, oh, AUGUST TWENTY, our windows open. Which is nice, since we have no air conditioning and if it weren't late and the Queen Mum weren't asleep in the guest-bedroom-formerly-our-room I would take a picture of our Ikea lamps to show you what this kind of heat and humidity, when trapped, does to a paper shade.
It's sad and should not be seen by sensitive sorts.
So! New screens!
Also, every night when I tuck the kids in bed and ask them what they are grateful for (because I am selfish and like to hear them rehearse all the marvelous things I've done for them during the day), they say "I'm grateful the Queen Mum is here."
Furthermore, since the Queen Mum is sleeping in our room (with a little reading nook I installed for her and why didn't I think of doing that before so I could hide from my family?), we are sleeping in the livingroom. Which is very much like going on vacation.
It takes so very little.
We don't know how long she'll be staying, which makes people freak out a little bit.*** Such planners, people are. Lucky for us, we are not planners. We are the proverbial Green Twigs. Except plumper. And more beige than green. But still very bendy.
In a metaphorical sense, since neither of us can touch our toes.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going on vacation. In my livingroom. New windows to fall asleep looking out! New art to wake up to! (Apparently I don't get out much.)
* Oh man do I owe her this. I have freeloaded off this woman for YEARS.
**sorry, I think this explanation is going to require its own blog post, so I can more thoroughly mock Chris and his box truck with style and grace.
*** just until she can get moved back into her own digs. Or when she's sick of us. Shall we place bets?