Whose brilliant idea was this again?

As I stand in my house staring at all of the crap that somehow needs to get boxed and moved by next Thursday, I have to just walk away and ignore it. Because really, the one-man, two small children moving company hasn’t been working out so well. Sure, we got the china and most of the crystal taken care of quickly, and clapped ourselves on the back. But now, there is the book collection that rivals a small town library (and there are no built in book cases at the new house, so I’m loathe to pack up the books knowing they will sit in their boxes for months or years until we get some made). There is the antique grandfather clock my great great grandmother had shipped over from England. I’m terrified to even touch it for fear it breaks and the wrath of my family crushes me. But at least I know where that is going if I ever get up the guts to take it apart and move it.

There are the remaining toys that I think will have to be smuggled out in the cover of darkness. The contents of the laundry room and cleaning closet. And the garage. The garage makes me cry. But at least I can claim that M has to deal with than one since it is (mostly) all of his treasured possessions (cough, cough). There is the stereo system that was never hooked up after our last move. I wonder if it even works anymore after accumulating four years of dust.

To top it off, the fail-safe babysitting plan designed to make sure my children are happily distracted and entertained while the contents of their home are removed and reinstated, crumbled around my feet yesterday. Lovely friend, who has saved me more times than I can count in the few weeks since Rebecca moved across the pond, has graciously offered to save me again, and I figure the cost of the thank you gift I am going to feel obligated to place on her doorstep is going to be much greater than the cost of hiring a sitter for the day. But at least I won’t have to worry about the kids getting trampled by the moving men or escaping out the front door. Offering to entertain four kids under five for eight hours. She is a saint. Really.

How do people do this? Really. I can’t begin to imagine how Rebecca managed to get her whole house sorted into storage, boat, and air shipments. With her children in tow nonetheless. If I ever, ever make noises about moving again, please point me to this post. My mother keeps telling me I will be so happy once we move, but I think I would be even happier if I was committed someplace.

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