I love my children. I love my children. Ilovemychildrenanddon’treallywanttokillthem.

Ahem.

So the thing about my home office is that I used to share it with my husband. When we first moved into this house a few years ago, we packed the room to the gills with our stuff—his desk on that wall, mine on this one, and bookshelves and boxes galore everywhere else. I enjoyed sharing with him (I am rather fond of the guy, after all, and he makes an ideal officemate because he’s quiet and tidy but also fun to be around), but we really didn’t have enough space. And so this summer, we rearranged some other things in the house and my husband moved his office upstairs.

The good news is that now he has enough room for all of his stuff, and I have enough room for all of my stuff.

The bad news is that all of the new-found extra space in my office is rapidly being filled up with child detritus.
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I’m a little ashamed to admit this, but sometimes I’m not quite as on top of things as I ought to be. I know! I was shocked, too. (Just pretend to be shocked. For fun.) And so, yes, six months have passed since I told you about my decision to incorporate my business, and it didn’t all get finalized until last month. My accountant and I discussed it, and I gave him some money, and he told me to call him after tax season. I maybe didn’t get back to him right away, and then I got back to him and he didn’t get back to me right away, and, well, you know how this sort of thing goes, I’m sure. But it’s done now.

I have officially formed a Limited Liability Corporation, and I have a shiny new EIN to show for it. In fact, I have an entire folder of… ummm… unintelligible legal jargon and paperwork that certifies that it’s all official and I own a business in the eyes of the law and the IRS.

And for all of the reasons I discussed in my prior post, this is a Very Good Thing. Or it will be. But right now I feel like I’m on sort of a steep learning curve.
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Although I enjoy hanging around with my family and friends, I am, by nature, a rather solitary person. Loneliness is a common freelancer’s lament—long days in the home office, all alone, can start to feel like a lifetime in a cave—but for the most part I relish the quiet.

But I got to thinking that a dog would be awesome, because I’m here all the time, and it would give me some companionship during the day and the kids would be delighted to have a pet again (we haven’t had a dog since they were very small), and it all seemed like such a good idea. So the husband and I did our research and drove out to a rescue in the country and agreed to foster a particularly timid dog for two weeks. In two weeks we would see if he would come out of his shell and maybe be a good fit for our family.

Within three hours of getting him home, he bolted through the slats in the gate. That was four days ago, and the good news is that the dog is fine; he’s lounging around our neighborhood and when he’s not somewhere we can see him, the neighbors are calling to report he’s in their yards eating their cat food. The bad news is that no human can get within 10 feet of him.
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… of the yeeeeeeeaaaar….

I’m feeling a little giddy. School starts this week.

I’ve had a great summer with the kids. I love having them home. I love all of the adventures we’ve had—camping, swimming, outings, lazy days at home, visits to relatives, various craft projects, endless Wii tournaments, and the ever-constant chant of “Mom, we’re hungry.” (And every single time, they were surprised when I responded, “Well, then, have a snack.” As if maybe I’d hidden all the food since the last time they’d eaten.)

I repeat: Summer has been a blast.

But it’s time for everyone to get the hell out of my office. Seriously.
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