Hello, blog! I was wondering if you'd like to come help me pack. Maybe you could bring the laundry upstairs for me to sort into take (therefore headed for the suitcase) or not take (therefore to be piled in a heap on the floor where I will forget it was clean next week and will wash it again). What's that? You don't know how to navigate the stairs? Hmph.
Or hey! If laundry isn't your thing, you could perhaps start dealing with toiletries! You know, all the little baby shampoos and sunscreens and Baby Motrins and such. No? Oh, I see. You have allergies to scented things.
Well then. I guess we really can't hang out tonight. Bummer.
(Don't look at me like that for not posting an OPT, blog. When I'm not tackling massive projects or packing, I am playing a constant tug-of-war with Riley, who has decided that Three is the Year of Living Contrarily. And if that weren't enough, there is Mason, who was born contrary. And yet still beautiful and wonderful and all of those good things, of course. But I don't know what the hell I'm going to do when SHE turns three. Hey! Maybe that's when she'll decide to be agreeable!)
Blog, do you think you could sit down here and clear my CF cards for me? No? You're useless. I'm going to go see if my bed would like to help out instead.