Back downstairs, I dress Sam for the day. Lately, I've been allowing him to pick out his own outfits. Sometimes that leads to rather..."festive" ensembles.

He still has some breakfast left, so I head into the kitchen and do a quick sweep and mop of the floor. Then I get the towels out of the drier from last night to fold them, throwing in another load.

   

A peek at Sam leads me to believe that I might still have a minute or two left to work unhindered, so I grab the broom and head upstairs. No such luck; Sam can recognize a broom sound from two counties away. Before I've swept more than a few square feet, he's next to me, demanding his turn with the broom.

   

Slowly, we finish the job, taking turns with the broom and the dustpan. When the floor is clean, we head downstairs to dust. Sam likes to "wipe" things with the dustcloth. I get out the vacuum next, but a sudden wave of nausea sends me into the kitchen for a handful of grapes before I can complete that particular chore.

      

Okay, the house is presentable for the day. I sit down at the table, with my big water bottle, and prepare to work on some paperwork for the relocation. Sam, meanwhile, tries to distract me with items he's found while cleaning: ticket stubs from our plane trip! He thinks he can use them to take another trip today.

I don't get very far on the paperwork before I hit a snag and need Eric's help. Voicemail left; call me back, honey!

      

Sam has to poop. This usually an all-day affair. Stay tuned for news; there's nothing to report yet except for an increased need for back rubs and comfort.

Eric calls me back, and I finish the paperwork. Now it's time to head out for our errands. Buckle up!

Oh, I must introduce you to Bess, the Temperamental Bonneville. See that tail lamp warning? My tail lamp's just fine; she just likes attention. Sometimes she'll flash the warning at me, complete with "bing" sounds, every few seconds. A few seconds before I snapped this picture, the "check engine" light flashed at me. There's nothing wrong; she just does that.

   

First we're at the bank. Cashier's check for the relocation people, check. Notarized form for the realtor, check. Lollipop for Sam, check.

Second stop is The Post Office That Time Forgot. Check out the kickin' mullet on Postman Number One. Postman Number Two, our helper du jour, has some styling dangly earrings to compliment his perm. Note: I wouldn't make such public fun if he had been the least bit polite to me today. He wasn't, so I am.

   

Back home again, and Sam is famished. I fix lunch. He gets a "chock-it shammer" (a Nutella sandwich, in which I hide copious amounts of wheat germ), some dried fruit, and plain vanilla yogurt. I get a turkey sandwich with pickles (check out my homemade sandwich bread!) some yogurt, and vegetable chips with salsa.

All goes well until Sam again senses an impending bowel movement. He manages again to hold it off, and instead chooses to nurse to sleep for his afternoon nap. I'm running low on energy myself by this time, so I clean up the lunch dishes and head upstairs for my own siesta.