Okay. So I've been overcome with emotion like rats filling a gutted old house, ready to spill out in "Willard" manner (thank you, the talented Crispin Glover). We've been getting ready to make one of our biggest moves yet. You see, we're not just moving from one house to another, leisurely taking all items from one house and placing it in whatever other place we have laying in wait; we're actually packing up our family and making as one would say "a mad dash" to get to the farthest province to the west. Why on EARTH would I want to do that? I'll tell you why, because I'm crazy. I'm one of those mental hospital escapees who decided to marry, raise a family then move to one of those sunny places with all the beaches. Absolutely mad. I've certainly lost my mind going through each... and every... box this house contains. What exactly have I been looking for? Garbage, I guess. Just making sure that I'm not packing garbage. What's even more ridiculous is trying to pack 6 carry ons and 3 checked bags, with an additional bag for an extra $20 (assuming that I can pack enough and keep it under 50 lbs). Through all the madness, I've managed to grab a 7 pack of vacuum-seal bags from WalMart under the assumption that my sister (who raves about them) nabbed the ones I had just fished out in the garage at my parents' place. I probably should have checked to see if they're actually still there or not, but I assumed this with the understanding that my big mouth gave her full grant to take anything that belonged to me and keep it for herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! We all learned when we were little no "takesy-backsies". Whether or not that still applies to adulthood, I don't know. At this point, I think my thinking is "That's one more thing I don't have to worry about and somebody else can go through my junk. I wonder if that moldy banana experiment is still there?"
In the midst of arguing for a moment on the computer to catch a "break" from working (by 'working', I mean organizing everything... in my head...), I managed to get the kids to sleep (with the help of Superman AKA Bram) and studied carefully at what needs to be loaded into each suitcase. Everything must be carefully weighed. And just when I've been completely satisfied that the suitcase is 3 lbs UNDER the required weight (I'm so scared this scale is wrong, but my butt and sagging love handles tell me it's not), I notice another pile of clothes that must be washed, dried and somehow packed. That's where the recently, newly acquired duffel bag comes in. Goodbye $20!
But what to do with all the stuff that doesn't fit on the plane? WHY NOT GET A BIGGER PLANE?! Yeesh.
And selling everything... oh the stuff that has to be sold that nobody is wanting or completely low balling us on (I REFUSE to sell our $1600 bed for $450. Are YOU crazy?!?).
Then there is the emotional part of it. My parents have guardianship of my 11 year old daughter and she won't fit into my suitcase... oh, how my heart hurts.
Until next "break",
Mel.
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