I am surrounded by boxes and empty closets.
The kitchen has been cleaned and the refrigerator is spotty-spot-spotless. I have even placed a beautiful bowl of locally grown grapes inside. They are quite dazzling.
Billy and Francine are camping out in the bedroom as is our happy headboard. Mister built a bed out of boxes so we could estimate the size and remaining floorspace until our brand spanking new mattress arrives. As I type this however, he is outside the homestead building me a platform bed that has "bookcases" along the bottom. He's kinda cool like that, even when he reprimands me or dusting without the crazy mask on.
After three hours of being surrounded I managed to dust and clean all the windows and accept defeat at an idea I had to cover pretty gift wrap with clear contact paper to line the kitchen cabinets. I might have thrown a wee bit of a tantrum and I might have been all crankified.
The crankiness didn't last. How could it when I find things like this in one of the thought-to-be-empty closets and boxes full of robots and kitsch?