Two More Days

I'm down to two more days before The Great Move of 2011.

I rented a dolly. I changed over the utilities. I registered Joseph in his new school. I've written the checks for rent. I have a group of wonderful people showing up at my house at 7:30 Saturday morning.

And I've packed.

I have a stack of boxes, neatly numbered for each room, towering in my living room. I have post it's with the word "done" in bold black stuck to each empty cabinet and drawer. I've spent hours going through everything - dusting, sorting, deciding.

Sarah, Dolly, and Matt offered their help.

I turned them down.

I hate packing. I'd much rather never do it. But as much as I hate it, I also know I'm awful to work with. Remember when my mom and I butted heads over painting Elizabeth's furniture?

I'm worse with packing.

I'd drive my friends from my house in two minutes. They'd seethe and frown and look at me like I was some sort of OCD freak.

Because I am.

Moving, by it's very definition, is a time of flux, change, and, to some extent, disarray. It makes sense that my Virgo self would try to wrest control of the situation in whatever way possible; to create order out of chaos.

And it drives those who have helped me pack in the past batty.

The living room is done. The kitchen is done - except the pots and pans, and the food. The front bathroom is done. The dining room is done. My room is done.

Chad volunteered to pack the kids' room.

Which is causing me no end of stress because his idea of packing involves, for some odd reason, vacuuming out the garage and sorting empty boxes by size.

Interestingly enough, it does not involve putting items into those boxes.

I have a feeling I'll be spending tonight and tomorrow night packing their rooms.

Then, I'll take a few deep breaths.

And drink a glass of wine.

Or two.