I think that if I have anything else to worry about concerning the housing situation in relation to the countdown to the birth of my babies (I'm 14 weeks today, giving me approximately 14-16 weeks until the "age of viability", as my doctor says), I am going to go bonkers. Actually, I think I have already gone bonkers. Because of this (and because my back hurt), I let my kids smush playdough into most of the furniture and the carpet for a good hour and a half this afternoon.

Hey, it's not my carpet. And it kept them busy.

Perhaps a few small examples will demonstrate the state of things. The other day the kids and I saw a wild turkey in the woods. "A tur-tey! A tur-tey!" my two year-old called, jumping up and down in excitement. All day I had to draw turkeys, watch for turkeys -- everything was turkey, turkey, turkey. He giggled, laughed -- loving the turkey.

The next morning -- two guys walk out of the woods dressed in camouflage. They're each holding a dead turkey by the feet.

So how do you explain to a turkey-loving two year-old why his beloved turkeys are riding in the car now?

"Couldn't they just go to the grocery store?" my daughter asked, her eyes big and round.

Yeah, I know, it's part of living in the country. I ought to know that, because I grew up in the country. Still -- "Tur-tey! Tur-tey!", aiyee.

Then, a couple days later, we were admiring the wild strawberries blossoming along the rock wall in the back yard. I told the kids stories about how I had picked wild strawberries when I was a kid, and they had giggled in anticipation.

Next afternoon, we come back from the library to find that the owner and one of his hired men are ripping out every single strawberry from that rock wall -- because they're weeding, you know.

I have to get out of here.

Last night we discovered a home going up on a nice lot with great views. 4 bedrooms, too -- sounded perfect. The price is a little steep, though. We could afford it, but we'd be scraping.

Today, the log house with the goddamned pond showed up on the MLS with its price lowered, just to make our decisions even harder.

Of course none of it really matters because our real estate agent won't return our calls.

So I did what any sane person would do in the face of all this stress. (And back ache. Because my back hurt.) I let the kids smash playdough into the carpet, and I read a book.

In the past three days, I have read 3 Johanna Lindsey novels. It's probably healthier for the babies than Prozac would be at this point, I guess, but I am really feeling that prohibition against alcohol, let me tell you.

Because even better than a Prozac would be a beer.