I remember reading once that moving is second only to death as far as the level of stress it induces. I believe it, too, because I have occasionally wondered if this move would be the end of me. Other times I just wished it would.
It certainly does not help that we are currently responsible for two houses. You know it's bad when Tim texted to inform me that he would be working on the front yard, and I had to ask at which house?
Aside from the mounds of boxes to be unloaded (with special assistance such as the above work Laura did in the pantry), and yards to manage, I think the hardest part is the disruption to routine. Mostly mine, since school and sports, etcetera have continued apace (which also heightens the insanity). Laura finally got a nap today, her first in four days. And I did manage to squeeze in a short run. There is hope.
Friends have been so kind, offering rides and shelter. Clearly it is hyperbole to compare this with death, especially since there is plenty of excitement along with the exhaustion. Nevertheless, I hope we don't have to do this again for a long, long time. And when I do, a toddler won't be involved!
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