Dodging Fingernails

Brenda is clipping her nails. Not very noteworthy, I know, but this is a special occasion - she is clipping her nails in a hotel room in Augusta, Georgia. And the clippings are traveling across the room at nigh unto the speed of sound with every click of the clippers. They're the acrylic nail overlays plus her regular nails. Quite amusing until one catches my eye.

Enough of that. We are in Georgia. It has been warm. I'd take back the West Texas heat any day in exchange for the humidity, but we'll adjust eventually. An aquaintance said recently, "People say that southern girls don't sweat, they glisten. I tell you what, I've lived here 47 years, and that just ain't right." I think I saw our van sweating the other day, when it was something around 102.

So far we're enjoying the South. It's similar to Texas, people seem more friendly, more relaxed. So far. Well, I should say others seem more relaxed, we on the other hand are more high-strung than ever. Searching for, and going through the purchase of a home has proved a daunting thing, and more stressful than basic training. At least we don't have someone yelling at us every few minutes. We're living out of hotels at the moment, draining our bank account on a studio-apartment like "suite". It does have a kitchenette, dishes, cookware and a dishwasher, so we can prepare meals instead of always going out for food. We are really hoping and praying that the purchase goes through quickly and easily, and we can move in shortly after the first of July. A little optimism can go a long way!

The boys are healthy as always, and Cameron is turning into a chatterbox. When he's not chatting, he's sleeping or screaming at his brother or his parents. Dylan's "defense mechanism" was sulking or closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep. Worst case scenario he would run away. Cameron just screeches. At everything. Doesn't get water handed to him fast enough? Screech. Asks for fruit snacks ten times after finishing one packet, and Mom says no? Screech. Dad tries to buckle his seat for him? Screech. And so it goes. Of course we tolerate it, because he's so dang cute when he sings "Happy birfday to yous, happy birfday to yous..." and that balances the irritating/cute scale, even tips it in favor of "cute".

Love to family and friends, and to all fathers we say "Happy Father's Day!"