Recently I reached that point in the moving process where I go on auto-pilot and hope that everything I wrote down in my calendar weeks ago is still valid, because all I can do is look at my calendar and follow the directions. I've pretty much finished up in my office, only needing to go in tomorrow to say good-bye to people. The cat still needs her health certificate and I'm waiting for payment to be received by the pet shipper before I can breathe half a sigh of relief and gear up for actually getting her onto the plane. I'm mostly packed, except for the clothes I've been wearing this week. All my medical stuff is in order. Uhhh, that's about all sentences I can put together coherently right now.
This briefly pulled me out of my zombie trance this afternoon:
Pucci Makes the Smiles
They'd make a nice new-mom gift for someone in about eight weeks, no?