Skeleton in the bathtub

Until yesterday, when Stella and her friend dumped the contents of our suitcase into the bathtub, our bag from Florida, (which returned, with us, more than a week ago,) lurked, unpacked, in the middle of our bathroom.

Thanks, Stella, I think.

Such is the state of affairs in the Chester Vance household.

There's nothing to be done but laugh, and order pizza, and just be where we're at. Which is a messy place — more mentally than anything else. Chris got the most evil illness and was down for ten days; I think I've got the evil's junior version; there are baby goats at school to visit, and lots of enemy-of-the-state fallout to deal with at work.

In the mix, spring is springing: geese are landing on the thawed patches of our pond, children are dangling from the trees. And somehow, I magically scored two back-to-back dates with Mr. V. this weekend — a first in nearly eight years I think.

Tonight, we've got another hot night planned. In the bathroom. Folding.