Boxes and boxes and bubblewrap, oh my.
Packing is a drag.
It's heavy and dusty and I have to evaluate each item by the "Will I need it in the next 2 weeks" standard. If no, it gets boxed; if yes, it remains unpacked. But wow there are a ton of maybes...
Example: The Styrofoam tortilla holder I bought on a whim that functions to keep warmed tortillas warm; the one I haven't used in 2 years? Am I going to need it in the next 15 days? I *could* use it on burrito night. I mean, we often have burrito night but I always forget to use it but that could change... yeah that's a maybe.
The crystal goblets I know I can pack; we won't be toasting any special events with champagne AT LEAST until the actual move-in day. I don't think, anyway. I mean, hubs could get a promotion and a raise and maybe we win the lottery? Ooh...Another solid maybe.
Will I need the crockpot? Maybe.
The empty brandy snifter?
The decorative candles?
The bread machine?
Maybe.
Yeah. Packing is a drag. Plus I have all these stupid empty boxes.
Everything is my obsession
Periodically I go through spaces of time where I am completely obsessed with one idea or another. For example, of late I've been obsessed with our upcoming move.
As I mentioned a few times previously here and here and here, we are in the process of buying a house. I say in the process because it feels like, what with the daily requests for more and more documents by the underwriters, we are swirling in a vortex of unending ALMOST-THEREishness.
My Realtor assures me this is all part of the process; you get pre-qualified for the loan; the loan people request pay stubs and bank statements and tax returns; and then they get busy looking at all that mess and so the underwriters can come back and ask for documents to certify the documents that have been certified.
Call it survival (or, you know, insanity), but in these times of "ohmygawwd I want it so much I could scream"-like waiting, my flighty mind has gone into overdrive; I find myself struggling to keep up with my thoughts.
Example: The door. We need to build a door for the den, to transform the space into a little girls' room. Thus, I begin all the machinations that I must go through to make sure the door gets created. Starting with, who do I call? (Besides Ghostbusters.) Who do I know that has ever had a door build before? I locate someone, call and get a reference. Then I call the recommended doorbuilder who needs to then meet with him to see the space but first we need permission to measure the space so I call the Realtor who has to call other seller's Realtor to get an appointment to see the space to measure the door area to decide what to build and how much drywall work if any will be involved and then he (the doorbuilder) will need to place a bid and if I want to get other bids I have to repeat this same process in its entirety and eventually select a builder so he can measure and design and order the door and... look. Look, while we were standing here staring at the space for the door I noticed there, in the laundry room, another something that requires attention. Appliances. We need to buy a washer and dryer. So first I need to research what kind of washer to get...
...And on it goes. Everything is a process with a thousand steps and all of the steps seem to capture all of my attention until my mind is suddenly focused elsewhere. Then I completely drop the first obsession, for the next.
On the upside, my brains only figuratively hurts. Literally, it's just fine
NOTE TO SELF: Try harder next time.
I could be a better person. I realize this.
It would start with me actually remembering the vows I take daily at 4:00 pm, when I begin detailing my checklist of all the things I will accomplish when I get home:
I will start dinner ASAP!
I will clean the kitchen!
I will start packing for our move!
I WILL BE ORGANIZED BY BEDTIME.
Fast forward to 6:30, glass of wine in hand, as I sit at the kitchen table talking to the hubs. We laugh and chat about our day as dishes sit idly in the sink, collecting flies. Laundry lies in crumbled heaps in baskets in front of the TV. The sounds of iCarly fill the background as the 7-year-old approaches to ask what's for dinner?
The stove has yet to be turned on.
By 9:00 I'm perched on the couch, watching Chef Ramsay verbally eviscerate some young hopeful. One hand dangles over the couch, gently petting Lucy's velvet ears; the other rubs the 7-year-old's back. The 11-year-old dozes next to me; the teenagers are upstairs keeping the world safe for democracy on the Xbox.
And the boxes we ordered online to aid in our household packing remain unassembled in the front room.
By 10:00 pm we crawl into bed, snuggling down with books and magazines and iPod apps and drift toward slumber.
Another night spent. Another day of delaying my 4:00 pm checklist.
Tomorrow, I vow. Tomorrow for sure.
BRAGGING RIGHTS: My son
My oldest son just found out he got into CART, the Center for Advanced Research and Technology, which is a school that “collaborate(s) with businesses and community agencies to educate students in a cross curricular, project-based environment that is academically rigorous, and facilitated through a business based instructional model.”
It’s kind of like a trade school that offers a series of high school programs designed to teach HS students amazing and awesome skills in areas of their choosing. Communications; professional sciences; engineering and design… His choice: Film Production. He’d been on the wait-list, and found out today that he is officially enrolled.
The thing about having kids, see, is that it’s not until after you have them that you get the whole meaning-of-life thing. You become this willing, adoring slave totally dedicated to the happiness and personal fulfillment of some Kuato-like being that actually, fully popped out of your body.
You no longer care about what you look like. Showering? What’s that? Uninterrupted bathroom breaks? Is that even a thing anymore? Doesn’t matter, because you become consumed with their bathroom habits. You even wipe their noses with your bare hand and you don’t care.
And as they grow and develop personalities that other people can actually see, your devotion to their success just grows stronger. You want them to blossom. You want them to be happy. You want them to have just one really good friend, one really intense interest, one truly awesome skill.
My son got into this program, and I’m so excited for the possibilities it offers him, mostly because he is excited to learn. So, yeah. Wow. I’m beaming.
Take anything you want. YAY!
This video is addicting. I have no understanding of why the guy is wearing his bandanna backwards, or why the cheerleaders are so happy with their declarations.
Perpetually anxious/simultaneously exhausted mom of a blended family of 7 kids & 2 pets. Writer about same. Wife to one amazingly patient husband. Drinker of wine. 




