Things.

The temperature in the next 24 hours is supposed to drop over 35 degrees. That's the different between highs - not between a high and a low. Welcome to fall.

The worry and planning, fuss and frenzy thermometer is supposed to have an equivalent jump in the opposite direction. Less than two weeks until crazy event-of-your-life madness.

And Otto snuggles on the couch, happy we're home, snoozing and drooling.

It's dark by eight and Charlie is making Indian food from a jar. And it smells amazing.

This weekend we're going to go buy fireworks novelty sparklers 40 minutes away in Mountain Home.

Our house is being overwhelmed by boxes. Boxes and box stuffing in every room. It's a big cat fort.

We still have windows open in the living room, and I'm debating pulling out the box of winter sweaters--folded and smelling like stiff, scratchy, wool.

Is it bad luck to listen to our reception mix before the wedding? If it is, don't say anything to me about it.

My wedding band isn't here yet. We ordered it from a catalog, and it's supposed to be here soon.

There's cat food on the floor in the kitchen.

It's been months since we've taken a walk down along the river.