She remembers how we met

I'm starting to think that Evan is an 85-year-old man trapped in a five-year-old's body. Last night we were out running errands and looking at Christmas decorations, and Ev was in knots over whether or not we'd get home in time for Wheel of Fortune. Thank God for DVR.

Yesterday was Ev's last day with his TSS. She took him swimming at the Y and didn't make him do any drills, so I'm guessing that was a pretty good sendoff for him. I think he's glad to be done with all of that, and I am too. It was great for him to get the extra help over the summer, but it's really been too much since he's been in school all day. Now Ev's only after school activity is speech at the hospital on Thursdays, which will be much easier for Mom to remember.

I've been trying to get some extra stuff done this week, and it hasn't been going well. We bought a bookcase from Target and last night Mike started putting it together. Some parts weren't working well, so he called me in to help, and from the first minute we were snapping at each other. We just cannot assemble furniture together. I don't know what it is, but anytime we even attempt it we get in a fight. Moving furniture also causes marital discord. For the sake of the family, we should probably stay away from both of those things in the future. The kicker is we know that it makes us nuts, but we try it anyway, as if this time is going to be different. We need to learn our lesson and keep away from flat-pack.

The bookcase has led to cleaning out the hall closet, which in turn has led to getting some stuff out of the attic and putting some other stuff in the attic and then trying to clean out the kitchen closet and suddenly my house looks like a bomb went off in it. I'm great at organizing, I'm just awful at dealing with the fallout. Something tells me I'm just going to haul a bunch of stuff up to the office and shut the door and pretend it's not there. That will work, right?