It's Late and I'm Tired.

You heard me.  Well, you read me, anyway.

I'm trying hard to keep up the habit of writing, so that it becomes one.  I'm trying fuzzily to think of something...

Toby and the kids and I went to the library yesterday, and I checked out way more books than I planned, as usual.  I have two or three fiction and about six nonfiction.  Cookbooks count as nonfiction, even though I read them like novels.

We worked yesterday on blowing insulation in the attic of the house, so that maybe some of the cold air we're paying to make will stay in the house.  Cellulose insulation is messy and gritty and itchy to install.  Toby climbed up into the attic with the end of the hose, and I opened the bags and fed them into the blower machine.  It only took a couple of hours, and we woke up early to get it done before the day really heated up.   I kept worrying that Toby would pass out up there, I wouldn't realize, and just keep stuffing the machine with more insulation, smothering him.

The playhouse for the kids is nearly done.  Today we hung an old canvas drop cloth over where the roof will be.  It might have walls later, but for now, it's open for any breeze that might happen through. We put an old orange chair in it, and the kids brought out a little table.  They played out there for about an hour, even though it was sweltering.

Next week will be busy.  We've got Girls' Camp, Josh and Tami visiting, 4th July, lots of orders to make and ship, and a birthday barbecue for Toby's brother.  I should sleep.