I am a bad, bad blogger.

So it's summer vacation, when every day seems like a Saturday (except without the laundry). I've been reading like a fool, but not much in the edifying department, more along the lines of the Complete Oeuvres of Maeve Binchy and J.K. Rowling and random choices from the paperback racks at the library. I've knitted up the entire Central Park Hoodie, but it's too hot to wear it. I'm knitting a sweater for the boy ("black and yellow stripes, mummy, like a bee"). I am avoiding the amazon.ca site where my wishlist lurks, tempting me while I try to save money.

Speaking of the boy, he went off to camp yesterday, leaving me with the vague feeling that I should be doing something useful. But no! I am updating my iPod and looking forward to my next riding lesson.

I am tidying my office and organizing it still further (I tend to keep things in my patented Piles of Crap system, which requires periodic maintenance. You know, where I go through the Piles of Crap and throw things out that I should have thrown out before they became a part of the pile. It works for me, people, or I wouldn't do it.)

I am cleaning out the boy's room - he also uses the Piles of Crap system.

I am not freaking out when I get letters from the bank saying "You owe us $1200 in property tax, how would you like to pay?"

I am trying to keep the wonder dog cool, even though she insists on wearing that silly fur coat wherever she goes.

I am making jam, and going swimming, and worrying about my boy, far away from me for the first time, and (also for the first time) without his beloved Teddy.

And that, dear reader, is why I am Too Busy To Blog.

Pity me, please.