Yep, I blew NaBloPoMo, once again. Bad, bad me.
Thanksgiving, y’all. It’s now nine days away.
Our house is a disaster area of biblical proportions, complete with dessicated palm fronds dragged in by the dogs; muddy paw prints on the tile, courtesy of the dogs; a fridge I still haven’t cleared out to make room for the incoming piles of food; a spare room that’s full of stuff from the studio (did I mention we are re-arranging the studio for better functionality? We are. Well, mainly my sweetie. It’s a Major Project.); and an office you can barely walk into?
Let us not speak of the library, dining room or buffet, all covered with extraneous Stuff, nor of the two rugs, unvacuumed for lo these many weeks.
I’d like to blame this whole deal on the new pupperina, but aside from needing to put her outside (or clean up after her) about every 45 minutes, she’s settled in pretty well. Once her stitches heal and her Bordatella clears up, she and Fenris will wear each other out every day, as per our Grand Plan, and we can get on with things. That day is too long in coming, though.
(Also? Freya is painfully cute. Her habit of half-closing her eyes and prancing around with her ears back every time she sees us after ten minutes’ absence is a thing of almost unbearable adorability.)
So I’ve got nine days to prepare for 14-15 people to dine in our house: cleaning, advance prep, shopping, more cleaning. My schedule is packed to the gills. Let’s hope I don’t collapse and leave all the cooking to my mom and the cats.