Thinking about it.

My latest and greatest statement (which I've taken to using for just about any occasion, as it fits, truly, any occasion) is: "I'm giving it some thought."

Currently, the rather sizable stack of laundry baskets lining both of the dressers (I'd say all three, but I don't really care about his dresser currently) has, I admit, sort of blocked J's path to the bed. He's been nagging about when we were going to "manage this", one of his favorite expressions (right up there with "business", which refers to damn near anything that anyone could do). Apparently, the fact of the matter is, we shoved all kinds of stuff among our collection of clean clothing baskets awaiting their tun in the "managed business" line, so we could host Christmas Dinner.

We did that after we moved all the furniture around.

All.

The.

Furniture.

We lost a dining room chair in the process; let's just say, that comment I made? The one about Aunt H coming back to haunt us by removing a chair? Even though everyone can admit she was a royal pain in the ass, that went too far. Clearly, I have discovered how to make friends and influence my soon to be MIL. J and I searched the entire house; no chair. C shows up, his brother, the search the house again - which personally, I believe was a deliberate move to avoid participating in any conversation in the living room. Especially after I dropped the H Haunting Chair Stealing bomb; the room became as quiet as a tomb. Wait. That was a bad comparison.

But I digress.

I do not have a problem getting from the door of our room to the bed. I can reach the crib in a moments notice (but I've nearly convinced J he's better at getting her back to sleep in the middle of the night - how's THAT for talent, hmm?) and while I find the trek through the laundry spilling out of the closet a bit of a trial to reach a bathroom at night, somehow, I manage. (There are nights when I have used the powder room, but why admit to that?) The hallway there is tiny, the laundry closet opens into our walk in closet, so the only place to sort (and store) dirty laundry? The hallway. The one leading to the bathroom. The pathway leading to house egress in case of fire or emergency? Goes right past the powder room. That path is always clear. Sometimes more clearish than clear, but whatever.

Right. Back to J.

Tonight went something along the lines of this:

J: "I can't even reach the bed" (use your whiniest voice)

R: "Hmm." (another great expression, by the way)

J: "You don't care because you don't have to do anything to get into bed. I do."

R: "I have to listen to you bitch, so, you know, there's that".

J: "Well, (add in a pissy, yet still kind of whiney voice) what is your plan then?"

Fair enough. I use My Plan quite a bit. I figure, if I have a plan, and it fails, I may fall back on my position that at least, at the very least, I, had a plan. Whereas, clearly, he was simply running around like a chicken without a head.

R: "I'm giving it some thought."

See?

Fabulous conversation ender. Should he ask me what my thoughts are, I simply go one step further: "I'm formulating A Plan. Don't rush me."

Dead freezer, vacuum arriving downstairs DOA, rather sizable pile of crap to go through (distinctly different from the Basket Stack, ps.), that pesky engine light coming on in my car - when do I plan to deal with all of this?

I'll have to get back to you.

Currently, I'm thinking about it.