When my older son was a toddler, on a day when I was apparently asleep at the wheel, he decided it might be fun to poop on the bathroom carpet. So he did. And then, he tried to clean it up. I got involved at the point where loud wails began to emanate from behind the bathroom door. The kid, the carpet, and the walls were covered in poop, and all he could get out between sobs was, "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"
So. It's kinda like that.
It's a week into the moving project, and all we've managed to do so far is to spread all of our s*** all over the place in two houses. And I don't know what to do.
The last time we moved ourselves, all our stuff fit in the back of a VW van. Every time since, hubby's company sent movers. A crew of burly men would descend on the house, wrap and box everything in the place, and load it into a truck. Our possessions would magically reappear a few days later in a new house in a new state, where a new set of burly men would perform the whole process in reverse. God, I miss those guys.
Part of this situation is due to a difference of opinion on how to proceed. My feeling was that we should move everything we don't need first, and keep the old place livable 'til the last. His approach involved tearing apart everything big and camping out in the new place while we reconstructed a workable home. As a result, nothing much has actually gotten moved at all.
We're down to the wire now. Relatives are arriving Friday night to help us load a rental truck. It would be good if we had it all in boxes to load by then. I'd say the odds are 50/50 at best.
I'm told this computer setup is getting packed tomorrow, ready or not. I've spent a few days throwing my body between the hubby and my desk, but there's just no way to fend him off any longer. So this may be the last post for a while. Pray for me.
5 hours ago