Please Hold

We are in the new house. back of house with apples

We are exhausted.

We are unpacking.

We are eating apple crisp.

We request that you please hold and enjoy some previously written posts until we find our way out of the cardboard box hell we have become mired in.

I’m taking pictures.

I’m planning blog posts.

A virtual tour is being contemplated.

But right now all I’m ready to share are these roses. pink rose

They are pretty.

I’m still working on the house.

Please hold.

We Need Ice Cream!

This morning we bought this house:new house

This afternoon I was in a moving funk.


I’m sure it was brought on by the conflicting emotions of the day.

The excitement of the new house.

The dread of leaving the old place.

The bored children.

The underlying panic every time I look at the amount of packing and moving that still needs to be done.


I’ve decided there is only one cure for such a problem.

Packing can wait we are going out to celebrate with ice cream!


She Picks Up An Item…

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

A kid shows up.

That item has never looked so interesting before! In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before. And now, now, that it is half wrapped and buried amongst the rest of the contents of a cardboard box, it’s AMAZING! So why, does Mother insist I not touch it? Clearly she can not realize how amazing this never-before-seen item is! Probably if I took it out and showed to her she would realize – No… she does not realize.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

A kid shows up.

Panic! It’s a favorite-almost-forgotten-haven’t-seen-it-for-the-last-six-months-best-toy-ever! Why would she take away the best toy ever?! I haven’t seen it in ages and now it’s being packed away and it’s going to get lost again! Mother doesn’t care. This is an injustice of the highest order. No other more played with and previously favorite toys will ever do! I need the toy! Mother packs it anyway. I tell her we will never speak again!

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

A kid shows up.

It is a boring item, it is her item. But wait! Why is mother not packing our things? Will we leave them behind? I know she said we are bringing everything but I also know we are not bringing the chewed on recliner or the refrigerator or the trees so what if my things are getting left behind too. Wait! ” Are we bringing my toys? Are we bringing my books? Are we bringing my toothbrush? Are we bringing the dogs?” Phew! Everything is coming.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

A kid shows up.

It’s a boring item. Packing is boring. Nothing is fun. I’m not getting enough attention. NO, I don’t want to pack my own box. NO, I don’t want to pack your box. NO, I don’t want to clean my room. NO, I don’t want to go play. I just want your attention!  I shall stomp to my room so she understands the full depth of my hatred of this packing.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

No kid shows up.




But I just wanted to play with the stuff in the box! I NEED these things! I’ll pack it again later!!!

The mother is unsympathetic.

The kid is upset.

The Dad goes to work.

She picks up an item and puts it in a box.

A kid shows up…

Written in response to Prompts for the Promptless Season 2 Episode 11 -Qualia hosted by Queen Creative

The Problem With Packing…

The problem with packing is that things always look so – much – worse before they look better.

I find this to be true of packing to leave the house for the afternoon, the day, the weekend, or, as we have started to do, for forever.

After spending a some time packing up our office I was feeling good about my progress so I took a little break.

When I returned I was shocked to see what my work looked like from the outside:office being packed

Look, even Louie is peeking out of his cage horrified at my “progress.”

Only ten rooms and four outbuildings left after this one…



It does not matter how wonderful a place I’m going, what I’m doing there or who I’m going with. I still hate the packing.

-I hate it because our house is always messy and John and I have conversations like, “Have you seen my Swiss army knife?” … “Yes, It’s behind the cedar chest.”

-I hate it because I have to pack myself, and two kids, and two dogs and get all the home chores ready and line up people to take care of things while we are gone.

-I hate it because I can’t remember any of the things I should do without a list.

-I hate it because I always am losing my lists and then spend more time trying to find the list than the items on the list.

-I hate it because I try to pack 12,000 things at once and end up standing in rooms wondering what I came into that room for when I know the next four things I need are somewhere else.

-And I hate it because at some point, no matter if we are leaving for a weekend, a day or a week I just want to give it up and stay home.

Then on top of my general hatred of packing I have to watch John pack.

I try hard to pack in an organized fashion, I use lists, lots of lists, I put things directly into the bag they will be traveling in, I do laundry first so I can find everything easily, and spend the entire time getting crankier and crankier. On the other hand John, spreads his stuff out on whatever empty surface is available and wanders around “playing” with it saying obnoxious things like, “Isn’t’ this fun!?” and “Look at all my cool stuff!” which fuels my general crankiness.  Then for one last insult he stuffs it all into his bags, and knowing that with his strange haphazard ways everything is packed,  immediately falls asleep.  Meanwhile I toss and turn while thinking of the two million more things that must be done before we leave and worry that only one million of them are on a list.

The real kicker.  With all my lists and “organization” I’m still the one who forgets stuff.  I think this is because I have to pack a much larger quantity of things than John (another item that must have been in the “stay at home mom contract” I don’t remember signing) and so I forget a proportional amount of items. Then John brings up the fact that I haven’t seen my keys or my sunglasses since sometime before the 11th of November, and I think I might be hopeless.

Then I hear, “Hey do you know where my flask is?”

and I say , “Yeah, it’s under the bed.”

and I’m pretty sure I’ve got company in my hopelessly unorganized state.


Now I must get back to packing, enjoy your weekend, and if you see a set of keys with a pair of sunglasses let me know!