The Joys of Moving

I haven't taken a moment to blog (or breathe) for a WHILE, but NOW. I. AM.

I don't know what it is like when other people decide to move, but the Johnson Family moves are (hopefully for marriages everywhere) RARE.

Our tentative date of departure is November 29 or 30th. (There are two cruises leaving out those days and we hope to be on one of them).

Easy enough right? ALL we have to do before we leave in Ohhhh... 16 DAYS.. IS:

1. Refinance our house to a 10 year loan. 

(We were "selling" our house up until last week SO we may be a LITTLE late on getting this done. But we can't exactly say- "Do you mind putting a rush on things? We are trying to flee the country." They tend to frown on that).

2. Do something similar to refinancing, but that's not what it's called, to our other house.

(Which MAY be the reason I have NO idea what I'm filling out. The 50 pages ask the same information on 13 of the pages and its worded so only a lawyer can understand the jargon). I'm pretty sure this is to discourage people from trying to do whatever we are doing. Because I've already given up. (Don't worry- Starling NEVER gives up).  

3. Find renters to RENT our house 

(This is SUCH an exciting process! We have had plenty of interest. Especially from people asking if we accept section 8 vouchers).  

4. Sell everything we own 

(To diminish this MOUNTAINOUS load, we are TRYING to rent the house fully furnished. It's free storage, right? AND we don't have to MOVE it). It's not that I'm a lazy person... Okay. It's because I'm a lazy person.

5.  PACK the "few" (hundred million) things we can't part with and put it into storage. (Preferably BEFORE my 1 year old UNPACKS it, destroys it, or PEES on it). I've packed us up four times before now. You would THINK I have this down to an art. Well. Since ALL of Starling's belongings always come to our house on a trailer, unboxed, unsorted, ...unidentifiable (because he refuses to "live out of a box" when "he doesn't have to") I am TERRIFIED at what THIS move is going to look like. We aren't moving into another town. Or down the road. OR down the road again. (Our goal is apparently to try out all the streets in the Oak Grove area). So I am packing. In boxes. EVERYTHING. THAT means the kitchen, too! (Oh the anguish of only having 10 forks to choose from instead of sixty...the poor children and poor husband...).

6. HAUL all of our crap to a storage unit 

(OOH WAIT. We have to store the majority of OUR stuff elsewhere. Like in the covered trailer Starling just whimsically bought. OR the pop out Fema trailer he got for "such a good deal." ) Just curious... is anyone ELSE wondering WHY we can't just stick our stuff in the storage units we OWN??? Well, that would take up valuable RENTAL space. Obviously.

7. Clean out Starling's Barn so we can rent out HIS side of the barn.

 Don't worry... I've seen the barn, too. I understand the eye sore. Especially the yard sale "we" have been having (apparently rain or shine) for 2 weeks now?? Granted, Starling has sold a LOT of precious belongings. (Which only encourages this- leave it til it sales or until we run out of time and donate it all to DEAR Cordelia. (I apologize IN advance). It will be a fantastic day to see his side of the barn rented. Hopefully they will keep it less... um... I'm sorry. I can't think of nice way to put it.

8. Narrow down what GOES to Cozumel

Apparently I thought the "magic" bags were more "magical" than they are. I'm going to have to reevaluate my closet. AGAIN. And hope for thrift store priced shoes.

9. Clean my house

 IS this even possible? My house looks like all my drawers caught the stomach bug at the same time. And every time one gets emptied, I WRITE it on my to do list so I can CHECK it off.

Let's take a second to visualize my house. Boeing goes "potty" every five minutes in order to pick a potty treat. He yells "POTTY" as he rips down his pants (no matter if we are at home or at Wal Mart). 

He refuses to EAT a treat. He must savor it's decadence through touch. He must fully EMERSE himself in the substance (because apparently any solid can quickly become a liquid if mixed with enough saliva). And then he must touch as MANY things as QUICKLY as he can while I scream "DON'T!!" And he must touch as much surface area on my shirt and face before I get that pair of stickies under a faucet.

While I try to find the 200 things he managed to contaminate, he pushes my carefully packed boxes around to use them as steps to reach the hearty chip selection. (Apparently our year supply of food storage consists of marshmallows and chips). 

His chip of choice is "op-corn," most definitely the CLEANEST choice. Especially when he makes it snow in the middle of our living room. At least twice a day.    

He collected about six pennies. Harmless? With Boeing NOTHING is harmless. That little terd used my door (the side where the hinges are. That allows my door to open and shut) as a friggin SLOT machine. So when I opened my door, all the pennies somehow JAMMED and I couldn't shut the door. Starling worked on it, fixed it. (He has so much spare time. Why not?) I hid every coin I could find. The next day? Boeing did it again.

And of course I have to FEED my family. Nothing like trying to pack a box, do home school with Brooklyn, and put 18 different shoes on Boeing (because obviously shoes are more comfortable than underwear). And then have to stop and COOK.

While I cook: Brighton decides everything I packed in said box is his FAVORITE thing (though it isn't his and he has never seen it before). Boeing takes the liberty to dump the contents of my box and use it as a helmet to protect his head as he runs into the walls. (Butt naked wearing only shoes). Brooklyn, always at my service, inserts herself in the cooking process to help things go "quicker," moving her stool from one spot to another, washing her hands in between each step.

 Boeing senses food and quickly becomes famished to the point of starvation and he must sit on my foot and BEG for a "nack." Until he is sent to time out. Once released, he quickly returns to apologize and HUG my foot for the rest of food prep.

 Bry quickly runs into the kitchen to make an observation about dinner. It could be dog food or pizza and his response is always the same. "Mo-om? Why do we have to eat THA-AT? I don't want TH-AT. I don't like THA-AT."

Meanwhile, Starling is working from sun up WAY past sun down. He doesn't come inside until 7 or 8. He's bone tired. He eats, bathes, and passes out. I'm bone tired. I eat, bathe, and WANT to pass out but can't because Boeing has an inability to fall asleep without first doing somersaults off my forehead.  

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous about moving. Umm. I guess I haven't exactly had TIME to think about it.