I was just downstairs, washing dishes for the umpteenth time, feeling a little sorry for myself after this week we’ve had. I don’t like feeling sorry for myself, but we’ve all been there, and I’m on way up and out of it. I caught the following thought starting to make itself at home in my head, which is sometimes a direct laundry chute right down into my heart:

I used to think I lived in a fairy tale.

And then, good ol’ girl that she is, the more fair and optimistic part of me jumped up with a shit-eatin’ grin to say…

Dude. You DO. It’s just time to slay the dragon.

So here’s the deal. Yes we have had a trying week. But our 3yo, stubborn, vivacious, brave, no-fear kind of boy is back to normal with barely even much of a black eye left to remind us about last weekend; our 6yo, take-life-by-the-horns-and-swing boy is now officially a second grader; and we feel immensely loved by our friends and family and each other. As a cherry-on-the-cake kind of finisher to the past week, we had our closing on our new home bumped due to an insanely bizarre turn of events, one which leaves me just itching to bash on our loan officer in a public forum but I know that’s not appropriate so I won’t. I’ve been moping around because I felt like this last thing with not being able to move on time was the last straw – I couldn’t carry any more. For those of you reading the naughty, naughty books, 50 Shades, I have been desperately wanting to use my safe word. Ha.

So the bottom line is this. We thought we would have four days to move. Now, as our insanely bizarre turn of events have left things, we will have a little under two hours with a moving truck, and then about an hour and thirty minutes longer than that without a moving truck. On a Tuesday following a holiday weekend, no less.


If any of you have the energy, time, wherewithal, TRUCK, anything, we could use your help, this Tuesday, from 11:45-3:15. And I can nearly 100% promise you that we will never, ever, ever be moving again.