About Moving…

Never, ever unpack your food storage from it’s cannery boxes. Packing, lifting, loading and unloading a million pounds of wheat, water, rice and beans had to be suckiest part of the move. Really, leave everything in the cannery boxes- they are the perfect size, shape and uniformity for stacking, lifting and transporting. Those cannery planning peeps know what’s up.

When your five and three-year old’s turn their noses up at yet another Happy meal, you know you have been in Limbo too long. Yes, they OD’d on fast food, and really want Mama to make whole wheat pancakes again. Hooray! As for me, after sampling far too much drive-through “food” I have to say: Carl’s Jr? Best burger, hands down. McD’s really stinks, and the quality is terrible, but their fries are the best. Jack’s  24-hour breakfast menu rocks… I love me some hash browns during an open house, regardless of time. Cheese curds at A&W- scrumptious little grease bombs; Jeff would do anything for them. And we won’t be making any runs for the Border anytime soon. Ick.

Even when you think you have everything done, every last jot and tittle taken care of, the escrow company will call you and need several thousand more dollars, and they will need it in an hour- in a cashiers check. Count on it. It’s just part and parcel of the crisis known as escrow.

Getting utilities set up is more work than getting a flippin’ passport. They want your social, your license, and your firstborn, just to get a little water and gas. Never-mind that you had service, and paid your bill, for the last five years at your last home.

The cable guy will be an idiot. That’s money in the bank.

Sure as the sun rises, your three-year old will wig-out about changing houses.  Be prepared for regressions, tantrums, abdicating of all rules and total mutiny. The older child will see said mutiny, and jump on the bandwagon. Be prepared. How? Sheesh, if I knew that I wouldn’t need my straitjacket anymore.

You will lose at least one box. Guaranteed. Even if you are only moving across town like us, the box containing all five of your telephones and the box with your husband’s work clothing will certainly disappear into the Bermuda triangle.  It took me six days to find our telephones. People keep stopping by, asking why the phone just rings and rings and rings… hmmmm. It’s a mystery. I never heard anything.


As I sit amid the tangle of cardboard boxes and chaos, I keep thinking I will write when things settle down. I will write when I have something to say, something to share, something exciting. Then, I realize this is my life. For better or for worse, right now, this IS it.

Don’t get me wrong. I am overjoyed to be in our new house, never-mind the fact that I know where nothingis yet, never-mind that I have, literally, hundreds of things to do. If I wait until all my ducks are in a row, years may have passed. So, boxes aside, mad dashes to the attorneys aside, crying phone calls to DH aside, I am here.

I’ll spare the details on the gruelling ordeal of selling and buying a house. If you have done it, I doff my hat to you, and vow (plead, pray, hope) never to have to revisit this particular hell. That said, our new digs are worth every tear and wail and wig-out.

Right now, I’m looking out at the violet twilight sky filtering through the broad-leaf trees lining the back of my shady, emerald velvet grassy, lilac infused yard. The birds are singing their even-song, and the quail are bobbing and flittering though my tomato and herb garden. The hard oak floor is cool on my feet, and a slight breeze flutters through the open french doors off the kitchen.

My children are sleeping peacefully upstairs, cooled from breezes through their open windows, and I can hear the soft whir of the fan and my husband snoring as he pretends to watch TV.

My front porch, yes, front porch, is ripe for the sitting, just as soon as I get something to sit on out there, and the full-ish moon is rising on the eastern horizon, where we can trace it’s arced path all night from said front porch.

So here I am. The stresses and difficulty of the last several weeks are really a small price to pay. These problems are really the blessings of excess- how fortunate we are to have such choices.

Tonight, I give thanks.

Moving Day

The end is in sight, my friends! I cannot believe there are so many of you still checking in… the computer will be down until next week when the ol’ Comcast dude will show up sometime between 8 and 5… because I have nothing better to do for nine hours, right?

The moving truck is in the driveway, the kids are dirty messes from “helping” all day, and the EQ is showing up at 8 a.m. tomorrow… Baton down the hatches, all systems go… Wish us luck!

Because Escrow Alone Isn’t Enough Fun

To the dumb-a$$ who somehow managed to steal our credit card number:

Dude! Aside from the totally karma-sucking nature of stealing someone’s credit, you were stupid enough to give Dell your address for shipping when you “bought” your new fancy laptop on our dime. Rest easy, Lame-Tard, when Dell let me know what you had done, I made sure to pass on your name and address to the fraud department of your town, my credit card company, and the federal government.

Oh, and all the crap you bought on e-bay? Yeah, they can trace you through that too. So be looking for a knock from the fine gentlemen in Blue any day.

P.S. You suck.

Such a Pretty Little Thing

Today, while avoiding two Realtors showing my house back-to-back, I ended up at Michael’s craft store…. and much to my wonder and delight, there was eye candy a plenty to be savored in the new Martha Steward Craft line. Oh, so very pretty. All of it. Think what you like, the woman has mad style. Or at least she pays the people who do!