One of those days...

Ever have one of those days when, before you've even left the house in the morning, you think you would be better off going back to bed and trying again tomorrow? It's 9 am on Monday morning, and it's one of those days.

The day started out as most do. I drag my tired body out of bed and out of the bedroom where I attempt NOT to fall over the hungry beasts as the three of us make our way down stairs to the kitchen. I dodge little teeth nipping at my calves and toes- oh how it drives me crazy when one of the monsters bites my toes! I stand there waiting for the ravenous beast to finish so that I can pluck him up and away and let the not so ravenous beast finish without having to defend his food. Only this morning- Ravenous (who shall henceforth be known as Thing 2) decided he didn't want to eat and wandered off. Okay, whatever, no problem. I pick up his food and put it back in the fridge. I watch Thing 2 wander around a bit and decide he really doesn't want to eat and Thing 1 should be fine.

Now, I recently (as in yesterday) banned the kitties from the basement. Up until the last month, we had kitties who were very good about the litter box. Then about a month or so ago, the litter boxes went a little longer than normal without a cleaning and one of the Things let us know he wasn't happy about that. Litter boxes cleaned, problem solved, right? Apparently not. Somebody continued to "forget" where the box was. I don't know if said Thing has suddenly developed a taste for an extra clean potty or if the evidence of moving is throwing the Thing off. Either way, the huz and I thought perhaps the basement was a little too quiet and unmonitored. So I banned them from the basement. Mistake. I smelled something upstairs this morning. And discovered a message in the spare room. Still unsure as to if it was Thing 1 or Thing 2 (I was betting on Thing 1 since he's typically the troublemaker) I was irritated that one of them was still acting up. And then it happened. I caught Thing 2. Now, I can't prove it was him all along, but that time, at least, it was him. What Thing 2 doesn't realize, is that if he doesn't get his act together, his days are numbered. We'll get him through the move and get him settled at the new place, but if it continues to be a problem once the boxes are unpacked and he's settled, we'll be looking for a new home for the boys.

Oh, but the fun doesn't end there. Monday is trash day. And if you've read my recent posts, you know about the tight squeeze in the storage unit, I mean garage. Ok. Time to leave for work. I put my bags in the passenger seat, like always. No problems there. Open the garage door so I can fit behind the car to get to the driver's side. Usually, I pull the trash can out before getting in car, I mean, it's hard to do AFTER I get in the car, right? But this time the car was parked a little too close on that side and the trash can wouldn't fit. So I attempt to squeeze between the trash can and the car to get in and pull the car out of the garage. Well, wouldn't you know. I'm as big as a trash can and didn't fit either. Well, I did, but in the process I managed to bump my belly on the car. And of course the car hasn't been washed recently. And of course I was wearing a white shirt...

Trash can put out for trash day. Headed off to work. Out of the complex, through the housing development. Yay, the tracks are open today I can take my normal route to work. Oh, for crying out loud, would my nose stop running! There must be some tissues in here somewhere. What's that? Not tissues, but the huz's keys. Sigh. Back to the Morris residence I go...

Day 175

It's Day 175, or the first day of week 25. An estimated 105 days remaining. Which makes it sound like I have SO much more time to prepare than when I say 15 weeks... 105 days it is!

This week the books and apps say the baby weighs in at about a pound and a half and is somewhere between 9 and 13.5 inches. The size of a rutabaga- because I can picture EXACTLY how big that is without visiting my local farmers' market! All I know is she's big enough to feel like she's got a death grip on one of my ribs and be using my bladder as a trampoline at the same time.

And while it isn't Day 175 of the house saga (it just seems like it-the actual count is probably more like Day 150)- the boxes continue to pile up slowly. I try to pack one or two every day. But there are only so many non-essentials that can spend weeks all packed up. And the newly packed box typically sits in a really conveniently located place for loading and a really inconvenient place for maneuvering around the condo, seeing as how it stays where it is once full until the huz has time to move it to the garage. Oh and the garage. That's a fun place. I was thrilled when it was MY turn to start parking in the garage and the huz had to deal with the elements before work in the mornings. Well, now that it's become more and more of a storage unit so that our residence doesn't look like a warehouse, it's like an obstacle course. Pull in slowly, not too far in or you'll whack the mirror on the fridge. Open the door slightly to see if you're too close to the boxes. Wiggle out of the car and hope there's enough room so squeeze the rutabaga between the car and the trash can. Check to see if you pulled far enough forward to close the garage door. Shimmy down the other side of the car- oops, watch your head, don't want to hit it on the snow shovel hanging down there. Made it to the door where then you must try not to trip over the two cats who have some strange fascination with slinking into the garage. EVERY DAY. The same cats I just watched pull a highlighter out from under the sofa. Wonder how many more they have stored under there...better save a small box to pack their treasures in after the movers (and by movers I mean friends who are getting paid in pizza and beer) load the couch in the van...

Boxes, bags, and endless paperwork

Time for another of my sporadic, cathartic blog posts.

The saga continues.

I'm not entirely sure why I thought it would be easy. Nothing ever is, it seems. After a year and a half of searching, we found the place. After waiting two months, the bid was accepted. After completing a mountain of paperwork- and faxing it 3 times- we still have no idea what's going on. The latest exchange:

Carla: Just wanted to clarify that we are closing on the 30th.

Banker: Let me check. I'll get back to you later. Or sooner.

A day passes.

Carla: We're trying to make arrangements, just checking in about the closing.

Banker: We need the declaration page from your insurance. You can use the close date as your effective date. I think you told me the 30th.

Wait, you are asking me? I thought I was asking you...

Carla emailing insurance: We need the declaration page, yadda yadda yadda.

Insurance: no response.

Carla calling insurance: This is Carla...

Insurance: Oh, yes, I saw the email from you, but our computers are down and we can't access anything right now. Where can I call you?

Carla: gives number

Insurance:

That's right. Still waiting for that phone call.

So who is the person who actually knows what's going on and how do I reach said person? Meanwhile, half my belongings are packed up in boxes. And the bags of hand-me-down baby clothes are piling up. I think it'd be nice to get the stack of paperwork for the house filed away before the stack of paperwork for the hospital/baby/birth begins to accumulate...But that's probably wishful thinking.