(I started this post yesterday morning. It’s now Day 4. Time flies when you’re, uh… What is it we’re having?)
It’s 9:30 am, Day Three of the big move and I haven’t cursed yet. So maybe that’s a good sign.
Having all your stuff packed away in “mystery boxes” can lead to some interesting improvisational experiences.
ANDREW: (boiling water for mac and cheese) “mom, where are the spoons?”
ME: “we haven’t found them yet.”
ANDREW: “well, I gotta have something to stir the noodles.”
ME: “here ya go.”
ANDREW: “This is a hammer!”
ME: “Quit whining! We’re all making sacrifices right now. If I can dry off with the drapes, then you can use a hammer to stir pasta. Plus, the claw part makes a great spork.”
ANDREW: “you used the drapes? Then what do I use after my shower?”
JAMES: “yeah, thanks to your mother hogging the drapes, I had to use the Charmin.”
JACK (calling from the bathroom): “we’re out of toilet paper in here.”
ME: “Andrew, go take the cat to your brother.”
In our old home, there was enough storage to house the entire population of Laos (or at least Bangladesh.)
This house is…uh…a different story. Seems like James and I were so blown away by the heated bathroom floor, we overlooked that minor detail of NO extra closet space. If we want to keep anything that isn’t life sustaining, then the four of us are going to have to wear backpacks and fanny packs and cargo pants and safari vests at all times.
ME: “Honey, where are the Christmas decorations?”
JACK: “they’re in my locker at school.”
Or maybe we could dig a storage bunker in the backyard. (An excellent way to give our neighbors confidence that we’re nice average people. As if the giant metal rooster didn’t already do that.)