Hmm. Awfully muggy for "Fall."

Rearranging the dining room.

It is officially Fall. I know this because a) I own a calendar [app], and b) people keep wishing each other a Happy Solstice on Facebook. (What did I DO before Facebook? I'll tell you- I wrote in a paper journal and called P.J. eighty times a day to tell him hilarious anecdotes. I think we can all agree that Facebook has kickstarted my blogging and saved my marriage.)

Also a marriage-saver: Last night P.J. found a mouse that had- ahem- ceased to be in the corner of the garage. Actually, it had ceased to be in any locale. He discovered and disposed of it in the time it took me to ask "What's so snicky?" This is a great skill in a husband. He also reassured me that there were no holes in the garage or the shed, that it most likely snuck in while the garage door was open one night. This bothered me greatly so he amended it, remembering that he had also spied a tiny beard and walking stick on the mouse's person- so he must have died of old age.

Food for thought- does a mouse have a person? Or is it a 'mouse?' There was a tiny beard and walking stick on the mouse's mouse.

Nope. Can't use it in that sense.

And have you noticed that a story involving a rat= panic/anger/hatred and a field mouse= confusion/sadness/whimsical storytelling? That's because mice are itty bitty squeakers and rats can suck it. (My mother: Keely! Me: Sorry!)

Back to the Solstice.

I have been feeling so crazypants lately and it's nice to have something new to blame it on. I've been cleaning and rearranging to a ridiculous extent; my office, my desk, the living room furniture, P.J.'s dresser (gave that one up midway through- I can admit defeat when need be.)

P.J. does not care for this. He does not like "change," overmuch. But then again, he wasn't too keen on moving in together four and a half years ago, nor was he ready to have a baby/buy a home/get a car before we had a chance to really thiiiiink it over. For what that's worth.

Besides, I can't help all of this moving things about. At the risk of sounding compulsive, the idea plants itself in my mind and I know the only way to get peace is to physically shift and poke and spin things around. And it works. Because the things- rooms, desk drawers, half of dressers- look fabulous after I tweak 'em. They always do.

And clearly, I can use a change. At the risk of my mother saying I'm being down on myself- I'm falling apart. For no discernible reason. 10pm Bedtime Month is still going [relatively] strong. (I mean, sometimes you hafta stay up late to scope Lamebook while eating PB out of the jar.) So I'm rested. Plus I'm happy with my new work/home ratio. And Nora's the easiest kiddo ever.

But twice last week I fell out of my shoes. All the way to the pavement out. Another time I tripped and, instead of catching myself on anything nearby, I compensated for balance by flinging the baby monitor down the stairs. (I'm fine. The monitor is not. Somewhere in mid-fling the audio wire snapped. Perhaps when it met the ground.)

And the other day while riding public transit, the elastic holding my hair up just sorta...pinged apart. I actually heard a 'ping.' Didn't know what it was. But it kinda felt like someone was poking the top of my scalp- which is not altogether unheard of on the CTA. And the other riders got to stare at me while my hair slowly fell to the sides of my face. Which I'm actually kind of sorry to have missed. (That's like- performance art!)

Maybe this is why the other Moms at the playlot won't talk to me. Falling down, throwing things and personal grooming failures are rather off-putting.

But, you know what?

It's probably just the Solstice.