Blah, Blah, Blah, Pretty Much There

Well - just don't look at the garage. We still have some intense reorganizing to do before we can park two cars in there, but I'm confident that we can manage it. Look - I admit it: After ten plus years of schlepping babies, diaper bags, briefcases, class projects, sack lunches, toddlers stuffed into snowsuits and groceries to and from a car parked at the curb in our old Illinois neighborhood, I will not have a garage so stuffed with things that one can't properly park a car in it. That simply will not do.

So we carry on....we are mostly done moving our household. Holy cats, what a process. The packing, the culling, the unpacking, the stabbing comments, the climbing up and down stepladders, the sleepwalking, the confusion when you say the word "home," the hiding for a few moments of peace, the laundry back up, the lack of sleep, repetition of phrases like "Where did I put the....," the dance breaks with and without jazz hands, the shouted threats and muttered oaths, the disappearing wires, screwdrivers and toilet paper and the constant need for someone to announce their current state of being - tired, bored, hungry, horny, weepy, exhausted, sad, hot, cold, achy, gassy, wheezy, overwhelmed and over it. (And that just covers my announcements. You should've heard what issued from MathMan and The Spawn.)

Let's get on with it, shall we? We're nearly done. Nearly done. Nearly done. Like Dorothy clicking her heels three times, I'm hoping that repeating it three times will make it true.

Following is some photographic evidence of our nearly doneness.

Garbo is learning about the pleasure and pain of neighborhood living. She's already been shoved down and scraped up her knees when a friend of the little boy across the street got the better of her in a fight. In retaliation, she's formed an all girl street gang dubbed the Covered Bridge Springs Tarts. I wouldn't mess with them. They fueled on Freezer Pops and Dum Dum suckers.

The laundry room might be my favorite room in the house. It's like the panic room, I swear. I can be in there for a long, long time before anyone finds me.
And, yes, those hangers have been sorted by color. What of it?

XBox Central. It reeks of Axe, Doritos and root beer burps.
Caution: Extremely high testosterone levels may be combustible and
make you misspell words like martyred.

Blogging Operations are nearly complete. Thank goodness.
Not having online access is akin to _____________________.

The Dancer enjoys practicing her sloth on the same sofa in a different living room.

When discussing whether or not to hang the Chinese market silk thing over the toilet again, MathMan announced that he likes looking for the dragons while he pees. That explains a lot.

I give the framed picture on the counter two weeks tops before it's lying shattered on the floor.

P.S. My mother would call my style of decorating "overdoing it."
At least I never decorated in that late 80s "country" style rife with powder blue geese
and mauve pineapples, so there.

We're down to a couple of unpacked boxes of books and the moving around of a desk or two.
And, of course, we need to find a place for the junk drawer. We don't have a junk drawer yet.
It's not a home until there is a junk drawer. That's a rule, right?

I've decided that it's high time The Spawn learn geography.
Now if I can just get them to shower.......

Whenever we move, this is a common MathMan activity.
I think he does this on purpose so he doesn't have to put away spice jars.

I finally stopped shrieking about how much I hate organizing the kitchen around 5:30 p.m. on Saturday. MathMan got involved and things went much faster with two sets of hands.
Now we just need to deal with the ants that have come in through the window over the sink.
Demonstrating once again, it's always something.
P.S. WTF, cabinet installers? Why install cabinets to open in the same direction?
Clearly you've not spent much time in the kitchen, if you think this is efficient.

And finally, when things have settle down, we're treated

to a little something new by MathMan who found a harmonica randomly tossed into some box.

Le fin.......thank goodness.