Note from the Management

It's hard, it's so hard, trying to be the conductor, the director, the manager of every detail of our complicated lives, down to the minutes. Down to the seconds. It's the manager who is responsible, the manager who shoulders the weight of this heavy, heavy house of cards I'm balancing. And I'm just not stable enough, not tough and firm and sticky enough right now, to be the glue that keeps this card house from collapsing. If I can never voluntarily rest, the day will come when I involuntarily do. I don't know how my fall will manifest--add it to the very long list of things I just don't know.

Just another week for us.

We accepted an offer on our condo and are now in the process of getting approved and finding our next home.

Fletcher is about to turn three.

He just got enrolled in school. (This milestone came awfully fast, didn't it?)

It took two hours for a group of experts to tell me my son should talk more. Oh, and he needs to learn "compliance." Um, he's two years old. So now he's going to start taking speech lessons through the school district, and uh, he better COMPLY.

He still hates daycare, more than they were letting on to me. When he's there, they have to have an extra teacher in the room and he spends half his time in fits of hysterics. Hooray! New this week is screaming "mommy" from the moment daddy starts walking away.

Andy's about to leave for five days for his friend's destination wedding and I can't afford to take time off work, so instead I'm throwing Fletcher around his grandparents like a ping pong ball. I'll also mess up his routine in order to go house hunting.

Oh, and we're having a baby in four months.

So in the game of How Much Can We Screw Up Fletcher By Changing His Life, I'm totally winning.