Before we get bit, slow down.

Life is humming along on Werewolf Lane. We survived our first new full moon in the house without any external injury. No bites. Very fortunate this close to Halloween when werewolves are well-known to be hungrier than normal. While our life is humming along and werewolves are not biting us, we’ve been too busy—way too busy. And just when we realize we’ve reached the hectic-non-stop-going-to-crash-point, it’s time for us to pick up and leave again. But before then, we have today. Today, this Sunday, we have one day to ourselves. One blessed day all to ourselves. And we’re going to be greedy. We’re going to lock ourselves away from the world and dive into each other and live in our house. We may even carve our pumpkin for the neighborhood pumpkin carving contest. We'll stretch our arms and wiggle our fingers and see if we've got what it takes to make scary out of big, fat, orange vegetable-thing on front porch. We just might. but if we do not--that's ok, too. No schedule. Not today.

How did we get to this point? Hm. Let’s review what we’ve done in the past five days: babysit for loaner son, have a general gathering of six people in our home that included some family and friends, have Maja over for veggie dinner and a movie, go grocery shopping, go to a birthday dinner, go to the symphony, go for drinks after the symphony, go to watch football, go to a Christian-Hindu wedding, go back to a house party, and then come home and say to ourselves, “no more.” We are staying home. We are worn out.

What does this mean for us? Well, that means that after taking a shower in what we have labeled “the water park” for it’s not one, not two, but FIVE spigots, we will retreat to our own little corners of the house. Most likely, this is where we feel the most change. We won’t be able to hear each other’s every breath like we did in the apartment. Mr. Husband will spend countless hours relaxing and gaming in our new library. Most likely, he’ll play Spore today in a grand attempt to control the universe. And I support him. May he wipe out all other offending creatures that happen to demand tithes from him. Do not stand in Mr. Husband’s way—he’ll obliterate your species. He’ll blow up your planet. Yes, we’re your standard hippy family here.

And me? I will turn my attention to the wood floors that must be cleaned once a week. It’s crazy to see the amount of debris that falls from us humans. Perhaps it is the cats moving our debris about at night—moving our fallings and placing them clearly in view as something of an art project. Yes, our artist cats. That’s it. I will also wrestle with the dishwasher—the stupid dishwasher that is most likely the worst model ever made. It makes me re-wash by hand certain dishes. It is the-dishwasher-that-lives-to-leave-residue. Nasty washing-box hates me, I know it. We learned from cousins Priscilla and Don from Chicago that we must feed the dishwasher Jet-Dry! They knew immediately what our problem was when we explained—this means, it’s information that most everyone else knows but us. I hate that. When did they stop making dishwashers that work without additives? That’s so stupid. I shake my fist at you dishwasher and dishwasher-maker-man.

We’ll soak up the entire day, being lazy like cats lying in the sun. We’ll continue to unpack the occasional box and continue to arrange our life just so. We will let our arms stretch around each other and encourage each others’ having nothing in particular to do. We will hum along on Werewolf Lane and attempt to make life a little bit cozier for our cats and us. I will also read a little between laundry and feeding Mr. Husband. The perfect day.