Those may have been the words uttered from my lips to Hubby this evening as we tried to sort out the logistics of our impending move. The move, which I might add, STILL does not have a forwarding address. Although, according to the mail we receive on a daily basis, reminds us that very soon, we will no longer be living here - as evidenced by the stack of mail currently on the counter for the new owners.
We have found a place that we have decided we both can live in. One in which we, probably, won't maim, kill, or otherwise harm each other. But we are waiting to hear from the rentee (or is that rentor? Definitely the Lessor...maybe. What the hell do you want from me? Sure I may work in a legal department, but that doesn't mean I know what I'm talking about!).
With any luck, we are planning to move the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving. Giving ourselves a full week to finalize the last minute detritus and clean the house for the new owners. While also insuring that any so-called "helpers" (those that have sworn they would do whatever they could to help us move) are busy with family obligations.
And then there is the whole Thanksgiving Dinner debacle to contend with. Hubby mentioned something about..."surely, we can have a normal Thanksgiving here..." Which, understandably, freaked me out completely.
Because, no. We cannot.
Which lead me to declare that we will be having Thanksgiving at a local restaurant - pick your poison because I'm making reservations.
He finally acquiesced. And my only remaining road-block was Man-Child...the one for whom the word "tradition" was created. The very same one, after having exactly ONE scavenger hunt for a (large, impossible-to-wrap gift; as a TEENAGER) one Christmas wondered why we didn't have scavenger hunts for every Christmas thereafter...i.e., if you do it ONCE it's a TRADITION around here, apparently.
And when I informed him that Thanksgiving would take place at an impersonal restaurant - rather than in the chaos of our own home?
|God, I LOVE that kid!|
*just like THAT*
I was left with MORE tears in my eyes when a friend called (I KNOW! I'm as shocked as you; I actually answered the phone!) to promise her husband (and his truck) into slave labor this weekend by helping us get rid of a bunch of stuff AND invited us to Thanksgiving dinner at her house, because there was NO WAY IN HELL we could have Thanksgiving at a restaurant! (her words, exactly...or almost. Don't get nit-picky. At this point, my brain can't take nit-picky).
And yeah...that is how rapidly things are happening around here and perfectly explains why my mind is in perpetual yo-yo mode.
Y'all have no idea how much I am ready for this move to be over already. Seriously.