It's been a rough couple of weeks. The movers came 2 Tuesdays ago and unloaded all the stuff that had been in storage in PA since July. While we have a house with similar square footage to the last, and a bigger basement, we are lacking a garage. So things had to go wherever there was space. The result? The house looks like a moving van exploded inside it.
Then last Monday started the Big Push to get all the stuff out of our apartment before our September 30 vacate date. Monday we paid movers to get the big stuff out. The rest of the week was shuttling back and forth, either together or separately, to bring all the little stuff that's so annoying at the tail end of a move. It was the most disorganized thing we've ever done. And let me tell you, doing this with a toddler in tow is no picnic. I have vowed not to move again until she's old enough to help.
To add to the excitement, J's work is heating up, so he's spent the bulk of the weekend on site trying to get things done in time for the next phase of his project. He's trying to juggle paying some semblance of attention to his family, get a ton of work done, and find anything in this house. And he feels bad, because he wants to unpack too, but there are only 24 hours in a day.
I think he and I have been cycling through the same 3 outfits all this time, because it's all we can reliably find. S has an appointment with a new doctor tomorrow, and I (of course) couldn't find her shot record. Even though I know there are 2 copies somewhere in this house. (And to follow on an earlier post, her crappy dr we saw last time still hasn't sent her records over to the new joint--which is just down the street).
But this morning, all fell into place. Instead of feeling like I was just moving boxes from room to room, I actually unpacked some things of importance. I found her shot record. I found the charger to J's razor (quickly becoming a necessity). I found the can opener! I was able to move some less important boxes out of the kitchen.
This place may look decent after all...