Everything that we do not use on a daily basis (clothes, toiletries and basic kitchen stuff) is packed. I am working Mon-Weds, off Thurs-Fri for final pack down. Saturday is moving day.
Sunday, surprise, will be spent at "dance camp" for Carlie, wherein "dance camp" is too far away and too short a time for a drop off/pick up situation, so I have to kill four hours in Beaverton. And, insanely enough, I am actually toying with the idea of participating in the "dance camp." Shut up.
This weekend I took down everything hanging on the walls (which are plaster and, OH MY, what a PITA to hang stuff on) and Tim patched the holes and tonight he'll paint. He swears we'll never hang anything up in this house again.
The whole "we never did sell our house" aspect of this move makes these moments kind of bizarr-o, when we're patching and painting the nail hole where something has hung for 12 years, knowing that in a year, maybe two, we could very possibly be moving right back into this house, and putting that picture right back up in that very spot. Same feeling I get as I parse out our furniture to be replaced in the townhouse by smaller, scaled down versions. It's weird to keeping thinking, "When we move back in...." as I pack things up. But at this point, I have to just get totally "out of my head" and move on autopilot, because it's the only way we're ever going to get out of here on time.
Having a two-year-old in the house while packing is going great, where in *great* = what's that? is that mine? that's my new one! what's that? is that mine? that's my new one! what's that? is that mine? that's my new one! what's that? is that mine? that's my new one! with regards to every single item in the house. So stinking cute. Packing up some plates: what's that? a plate. is that mine? no. that's my new one! that's my new plate!
On the super surprising and shocking news front: Carlie is sick today. She has a stomach ache. If she can manage to resolve her issue (i.e. take a poop) before I leave for work, she'll be going to school. Otherwise, she'll be missing school. Shocker! She has 16 school days left not including field day and a planned absence for an upcoming trip to Great Wolf. 16 days and she can't tough it out? Sheesh. Also? For those 16 school days she will be wearing inappropriately skin tight school skorts. Because apparently she's grown in the last few months. And those school skorts? Are, like, $40 each, and she can't wear them again next year (middle school, different uniform, if she even stays at the same school) so no way no how am I going to Dennis Uniform, where there is NO PARKING, and buying skorts for 16 days of school. Mean mom, I know.
So, yeah, off to work for me, leaving behind one home for a visit kid, one sick school skipper kid, one inquisitive grandkid and a house that looks like someone's poorly packed storage unit.