This was pretty much what I did when I arrived at my lovely, lovely home:
1. Squealed with joy.
2. Jumped out of the car and dropped all my stuff.
3. Scurried out of the cold into the back room that that an awesome fire going. Hugged parents.
4. Scurried some more around the house I hadn't seen since August.
5. Contemplated why my bed and room seemed to have shrunk.
6. Lounged on my favorite chair in the entire world.
7. Died of happiness.
Then, of course, there was yesterday. If you ever come spend a weekend with the Paulson family, you will discover that my love of football is, in fact, genetic. Because you really spend the entire afternoon/evening watching football (with a little What Not to Wear thrown in) and no one will ever say, "Guys, this is our third game, can we, like, do something else?" Really. They won't. This is beyond excellent, because some times the best thing to do is nothing. Sometimes it's just really fun to watch Texas Tech be absurdly embarrassed by Oklahoma State with your Dad.
For the record, MoCo seems pretty much the same. Which, you know, I appreciate. I relish the fact that I grew up in the weirdest place ever. I kind of want it to stay that way. Even if my own house is creepily clean. This can be fixed, however. When Claire gets home, we will set things back to normal.
