Christmas is over (but not quite over until the last family get-together on Saturday).  I go home from work and survey the house that has been living in survival mode for the past several weeks.

The receipts and mail and various and sundry papers are piled high just waiting to be gone through, recorded and thrown away.

The dishes from last night are stacked in the sink waiting for the dishwasher to be unloaded and loaded again.

The laundry is sitting half-dry in the dryer and piles more are laying in the hamper, on the dresser, sheesh, on the floor, waiting to be washed.

I walk across the carpet, and my feet crunch on some wayfaring popcorn.

I need to eat but don’t want to cook.  “Hmmm, I wonder what happens to be in the freezer that I can call food?”  That errant, now-smooshed popcorn might have to suffice.

I want coffee to perk me up and motivate me to do something productive.  Alas, there is not one bit of coffee grounds left in the house.  I searched, believe you me, I searched.  I guess I’ll just add that to the ever growing shopping list.

Gifts from Christmas are still lying around the living room and dining room and kitchen, just waiting for their new home (or maybe just waiting for their new owner to pay attention to them).

I look around.  I look.  Caleb is at work, and the house is quiet.  I walk upstairs and change into my pajamas.  (Hey, I gotta be comfy before I start cleaning, ya’ know.)  I look around again.  I heat up some previously frozen food and call it supper.  I drink some tea that had to fill in for much needed coffee.  I manage to resist eating the popcorn on the floor.  I dig through the presents and find a book.  And I sit down and read.  Allllll. evening. long.

Sometimes a girl has just gotta say, “Phooey with it all” and read her a good book.

So I did.

And it was fun.