November 24, 2009
Artistic Expressions
About two months ago, Jackson came home excited to tell me about his new friend. He couldn't remember her name, but she was really nice and played with him. She'd play at the sand table with him, and play tag. She was the only one who was faster than him . . . and he loved it.
I tried to find out who this "mystery" friend was.
I'd watch as they lined up to see who might be standing near him. I even asked his teacher who she might be. I didn't have any luck.
Then, about a month ago, he came home with a name. The name.
Ramasa.
And, a few weeks later we discovered that she even lived across the street from us. (Too bad we are so close to moving away.)
He would always try to walk with her if she was going our way. Or at least be on the look out for her if she wasn't walking near us.
Yesterday, my usual happy, bounding boy sulked home. He dragged his bag on the ground for the whole seven minutes.
I asked what was wrong and he replied,
"Ramasa doesn't want to be my friend anymore. She didn't play with me today. Instead, she played with someone else."
"Well," I began, "perhaps she just wanted to play something different than what you were doing? Did you ask her to play with you?"
"(Sigh) She's not my friend anymore."
He was pretty distraught, but I hoped that he would soon forget and move on.
Today proved otherwise.
Apparently he drew picture (shown above) to show Ramasa. He chased after her all over the classroom to make her look at it. His teacher found him and asked some questions.
"Are you giving this picture to Ramasa?"
"No, I just want to show her how I feel when she doesn't play with me."
The teacher looked at the picture of one person.
"Jackson, how do you feel when Ramasa doesn't play with you?"
"Lonely." He broke into tears. "I am so lonely," he sobbed.
The teachers' hearts broke as they brought him over to Ramasa and prompted him to ask her if she'd play with him for the rest of the day, and even tomorrow.
She beamed a big "Yes."
And Jackson came home so excited and happy.
He drew a new picture as soon as he got home.
November 19, 2009
Wish List
The world crumbled a week ago.
If you didn't feel it give out from underneath your feet, you might have heard an anguished cry from the Great White North.
It seems his mother was not on the ball this year at all. Going into Sears to pick up the Wish Book in early November was clearly silly.
They had been sold out for months. Worse still, you couldn't even order anymore. There is not a single, unclaimed Wish Book on this planet. (Or at least so said the sign at the catalogue register.)
If you remember to last year you'll recall how much Jayden poured over that magazine. I mean, for months. He even carried it around to April, picking out the perfect present for every one who entered our house . . . or even passed by on the sidewalk.
He was devastated, obviously.
Last year Brad snagged the store copy that was wired to the desk. I will admit that thoughts of doing the same thing did occur to me. (Desperate times call for desperate measures.) However, each page was laminated and firmly secured to the desk so I knew my chances of making it out inconspicuously were very small. Or even non-existant.
Now I know that I need to be in there mid-Auguest to have a chance at a copy.
It's a little sad, since we are moving I was really hoping a copy of the Wish Book could occupy my kids for at least a solid week while we transferred from one place to another.
In the mean time, they have been pouring over the online version and Avery has found her present at pbk.
Today as we were browsing, she came across all the dolls. After a lot of contemplation, she picked out a doll outfit and this package of twins.
"In bag!" She ordered me to put it into our shopping bag, like we were robbing a bank and needed to split urgently.
I explained that we couldn't put it into our bag because we haven't bought it yet. And since I had $15 on me, we were clearly unable to pay for it.
"Maybe you should put it on your list for Santa," I suggested.
Avery carted her two dolls all around the store and into the play house. When I was exchanging something at the counter, she brought her package over and plunked it down by the register.
"Mom, buy it." A very demanding order from a little girl. But it was so darling I almost pan-handled for change to get them for her.
I hoped that the act of putting it up on the counter made her feel like we bought them and that she'd soon forget.
But, as we walked out of the store she began crying for her babies.
In the past, Santa has frequented pbk . . . but I'm not so sure about this year. I think he's planning on buying out Home Depot and Lowe's for all of our stockings.
Believe
Perhaps it's the talk from older kids on the playground. Maybe it's the millions of Santa's they see all over the malls, streets, and parties. Or, it could be that they have watched a few too many movies.Whatever the reason, I have read many a blog entry about the challenges with eight year olds teetering on whether they should believe in Santa anymore.
It is much sadder out here.
My little six year old has come home with questions about The Man in Red.
Apparently, one of his classmates has been telling him there is no such thing. And, since he is a member of x faith, he obviously knows everything about everything.
I appreciate how an immigrant would want to hold onto their mother culture. And, I appreciate how challenging it is to come into a country whose traditions are so different than yours. And, how heart-breaking would it be to hear your children come home crying because some of their classmates had a visit from Santa over the winter holidays while they got nothing. (I say only "some" of their classmates because out here, our children are 2 of the 6 caucasian children at their school of 350.)
However, when your child is ruining someone else's culture and tradition, I draw the line. (Or worse, ruining Christmas for your four and two year via the 6 year old pipeline.) True, the parents may not have "encouraged" their child to spread the news of the Big Guy, but it happens anyway.
What do you really say?
All I could think of was, "Well, everyone has their own beliefs. His is not really true. Haven't you gotten lots of nice presents from Santa?"
Jayden insisted that his friend was wrong so his little friend said that he would do a test. This Christmas he was going to leave milk and cookies out and see if anything gets left for him.
If we were staying here permanently, I'd consider breaking into their house and leaving a gift or two. But, fortunately we are leaving before Christmas and will be surrounded by a majority of families visited by Santa.
November 16, 2009
All In The Name of Love . . .
. . . for a burrito.
Now this isn't just any burrito. No, not at all.
Nor is it about some crazy pregnancy craving. (I seriously crave these things any time of life.)
If anyone reading this has ever had a Cafe Rio burrito (steak or chicken) served enchilada style, and moved away from a Cafe Rio restaurant, you know the craving. And how intense it can get.
All I wanted was a burrito. Okay, maybe I wanted two. (It's not like Cafe Rio is just around the corner!)
Last July Brad went off to Vegas for a weekend with the boys in his family. In exchange for watching the kids for him to have a blast, all I asked for were a couple of shopping items and two burritos.
As he was heading out to the airport, he picked up a couple of burritos for me and carried it on the plane with him.
Or at least he tried. Until the security stopped him saying that he couldn't board with aluminum containers. So into the trash can they went.
It left me a heartbroken and now starving pregnant lady. (I had been saving calories for these babies all weekend long. Well, the nausea of early pregnancy might have played a factor too.)
This time as Brad packed his bags, I carefully got out our soft cooler. I found our two best tupperware containers (so he wouldn't have to waste time and money buying them, and also to keep my dear burritos fresh through the whole plane ride), and gingerly packed them into his suitcase.
Brad left for his trip laughing, but secretly I am sure he understood my pain.
Again, as he got ready to head out of the City That Never Sleeps, he picked up my two burritos, stuffed them into the tupperware and filled the cooler with ice from the pop machine.
Instead of carrying them on, he thought it wiser to put them in his suitcase . . . so no one would think he had a bomb in the cabin.
Once he got to the airport in Canada, a customs officer pulled him aside with bad news. Apparently the bomb and drug sniffing dogs had taken a keen interest in his suitcase and alerted officials to something suspicious.
Out came the cooler and my beloved burritos, and a few other things. The whole suitcase was riffled through and pillaged. Brad was chastised for even thinking of bringing meat and poultry across the border.
My blood boils both at customs for depriving me of a decent burrito . . . and the thought of those happy dogs . . . whom I am certain were ecstatic to have found mouth-watering burritos instead of drugs . . . and probably gobbled them right up.
Worse still, we think that we may now be "tagged" for border crossing to be forever checked when we cross.
Which is a lot. But may be a lot less very soon.
And I am still left craving a burrito from Cafe Rio.
Help!
My closets and drawers are all empty . . . but they seemed to have thrown up all over my house!
I have discovered that while I may be an organized packer this move, I am certainly not a neat packer! (Maybe I will improve on that for the next move . . . should there be one.)
To help keep me focused in the mess (and strap the kids somewhere where they couldn't make an even larger mess), we took a drive up to our new house to check on it; see if it will indeed be ready for closing.
They have finally locked the doors . . . which means two things. 1) Strangers will no longer be wandering through our house, and 2) The last finishing touches have begun. (Like flooring, cabinets, etc, etc.)
The tiles have been laid and, although they are white with a trace of gray (as opposed to white with a trace of yellow, beige, aqua--yes aqua?, etc . . .) they are very pretty. At least from the front porch window. :) The baseboards and moldings are in everywhere but where the hardwood will be laid and it really makes the place look like a home . . . instead of a bunch of walls placed together.
The only thing that was distressing was when I peered in through the garage door to the powder room and saw concrete towel holders cemented to the wall.
I cringed. My blood boiled. My heart broke for my beautiful walls that would soon need to have holes ripped into them . . . either by the builder or us. (We put in several requests for changes to "standard" things on our house and, although we could let some things pass, concrete towel holders, toilet paper holders, and soap dishes were NOT negotiable. And we were VERY specific about that.)
I put in a complaint to the sales office right away . . . so hopefully the builder will be taking care of it this week since time is really running short. And, I don't want to have to do it or pay to have it done after we move in.
(A curious aside: while in the sales office I checked out the lot sales. Just about every single available lot has been sold . . . which is considerable seeing as there were about 200 dwellings. However, not a single lot has been sold on our street. Nada. Zip. I really can't tell if it's a good thing . . . that we have the largest lot by default . . . or that there is something fundamentally wrong with our street that no one has told us about . . . like it's an Indian burial ground or something. Should we be concerned???)
In the mean time, Christmas carols are being played on the radio and thoughts of decorating a new and beautiful house in time for the holidays is keeping me cheery. That, and thoughts of sipping hot cocoa by our stunning new fireplace while listening to Christmas carols, all in the flickering light of a Christmas tree.
Sigh. I need to keep this image in my mind as I slowly sift through this clutter.
I have discovered that while I may be an organized packer this move, I am certainly not a neat packer! (Maybe I will improve on that for the next move . . . should there be one.)
To help keep me focused in the mess (and strap the kids somewhere where they couldn't make an even larger mess), we took a drive up to our new house to check on it; see if it will indeed be ready for closing.
They have finally locked the doors . . . which means two things. 1) Strangers will no longer be wandering through our house, and 2) The last finishing touches have begun. (Like flooring, cabinets, etc, etc.)
The tiles have been laid and, although they are white with a trace of gray (as opposed to white with a trace of yellow, beige, aqua--yes aqua?, etc . . .) they are very pretty. At least from the front porch window. :) The baseboards and moldings are in everywhere but where the hardwood will be laid and it really makes the place look like a home . . . instead of a bunch of walls placed together.
The only thing that was distressing was when I peered in through the garage door to the powder room and saw concrete towel holders cemented to the wall.
I cringed. My blood boiled. My heart broke for my beautiful walls that would soon need to have holes ripped into them . . . either by the builder or us. (We put in several requests for changes to "standard" things on our house and, although we could let some things pass, concrete towel holders, toilet paper holders, and soap dishes were NOT negotiable. And we were VERY specific about that.)
I put in a complaint to the sales office right away . . . so hopefully the builder will be taking care of it this week since time is really running short. And, I don't want to have to do it or pay to have it done after we move in.
(A curious aside: while in the sales office I checked out the lot sales. Just about every single available lot has been sold . . . which is considerable seeing as there were about 200 dwellings. However, not a single lot has been sold on our street. Nada. Zip. I really can't tell if it's a good thing . . . that we have the largest lot by default . . . or that there is something fundamentally wrong with our street that no one has told us about . . . like it's an Indian burial ground or something. Should we be concerned???)
In the mean time, Christmas carols are being played on the radio and thoughts of decorating a new and beautiful house in time for the holidays is keeping me cheery. That, and thoughts of sipping hot cocoa by our stunning new fireplace while listening to Christmas carols, all in the flickering light of a Christmas tree.
Sigh. I need to keep this image in my mind as I slowly sift through this clutter.
The Breakfast of Champions
Sort of.
While Brad was away playing, uhm, conferencing in Vegas, the kids let me sleep in a little bit on Saturday morning. (Like to 8am.)
They brought me breakfast in bed.
Jackson brought a yogurt and a sippy cup of grapes.
Jayden brought me the "chef's special" (aka: crushed brownies in yogurt) accompanied by a bottle of water.
While I am a chocolate lover to the bone, I'd definitely have to say that in this case, it was the thought that counts.
Definitely sweet that my kids would go and do all this on their own . . . before they tore my house apart. :)
While Brad was away playing, uhm, conferencing in Vegas, the kids let me sleep in a little bit on Saturday morning. (Like to 8am.)
They brought me breakfast in bed.
Jackson brought a yogurt and a sippy cup of grapes.
Jayden brought me the "chef's special" (aka: crushed brownies in yogurt) accompanied by a bottle of water.
While I am a chocolate lover to the bone, I'd definitely have to say that in this case, it was the thought that counts.
Definitely sweet that my kids would go and do all this on their own . . . before they tore my house apart. :)
November 13, 2009
Where Does Time Go?
It seemed like we had ages and ages before a move was imminent.
Months and weeks stretched before us, with all the time in the world to make important decisions like choosing a lawyer, finding a moving company, and picking the right school for our kids.
Somehow, only some of these decisions have been made and time is running short. Very short.
Fortunately, we've been able to find a lawyer to take us on last minute, a mover, and have been able to get everything else in order . . . for the most part. However, schools have posed some trouble.
Catholic vs public vs French immersion. So many things to consider: hour long bus rides EACH way to school, religious issues, facilities (or lack thereof), and standardized test results.
My head has been spinning.
Obviously, test results have to bear a bit of weight. However, I learned an important lesson while shopping for colleges. Of the three I toured, one was ranked #1 in the country, another was well known for it's co-op program and strong academics, and the third was known for partying and business . . . neither of which was up my avenue. Surprisingly, I felt very much more at home at University #3, demonstrating to me that while academics are important, the facilities and feeling you get while at a school is far more important. I think that if you feel comfortable there, you can learn much better and then meet your full potential.
So, as we toured two schools in our new town (sending them on an hour long bus ride just to get to school was out of the question, especially since it meant they were in French immersion), I kept this lesson in mind.
The Catholic school "front line" of this new and well equiped school was very much unwelcoming. Even though I called a week in advance and asked for a tour and to meet the principal, I was only allowed in the office long enough to leave my name and number and have the principal call me back later. Not only did it seem as though they didn't care whether I sent my kids there, it seemed as though they just did not want me. In spite of my Catholic background. Not a great start for Mormons in a small town Catholic school.
The public school was very warm and welcoming. Unfortunately, the receptionist remembered me completely from my previous trip there. (Refresh your memory here.) She even guessed who Jackson was off the bat. The principal took us on a tour of his meek and very outdated school. (We are talking about 1927 school house with a bell on it.) It had been renovated, in 1985, to include a gym. The floors and desks seemed to have been around since the school first opened and the only thing modern was surprisingly "smart boards" in every single classroom. The principal appologized for the poor facility and said that he totally understood if we would choose the Catholic school over his, because, well, everyone else seemed to.
As I looked around, I saw happy kids and staff that knew everyone's name and worked hard. From the window of the "hall library" (not even a room, but an alcove in the hallway of shelves with books) I saw a fun playground for the kids to play on. Some bushed areas to make forts and hide out, and a little hill for sledding in the winter.
For sure my kids would love recess here, and since the staff had already assigned my kids parts in the Christmas concert, it seemed easy to slide right into this school.
But as I filled out the forms to transfer their records I stumbled across the standardized test rankings.
Pitiful. Really.
I was quite sure that anything in a rural area would be heads and shoulders above our current school where my kids are some of the only English speakers.
It is true that the school is very small and the class who was tested had only 18 students. Total. But still, should I be concerned?
The Catholic school scored decently, but the neighbouring school that our school would eventually feed into for grades 7 and 8 had very strong results.
So I find I am back to square one.
Catholic or public? Or do I try to weasel them into the neighbouring school with some financial bribery?
Time is running out. And quickly.
Months and weeks stretched before us, with all the time in the world to make important decisions like choosing a lawyer, finding a moving company, and picking the right school for our kids.
Somehow, only some of these decisions have been made and time is running short. Very short.
Fortunately, we've been able to find a lawyer to take us on last minute, a mover, and have been able to get everything else in order . . . for the most part. However, schools have posed some trouble.
Catholic vs public vs French immersion. So many things to consider: hour long bus rides EACH way to school, religious issues, facilities (or lack thereof), and standardized test results.
My head has been spinning.
Obviously, test results have to bear a bit of weight. However, I learned an important lesson while shopping for colleges. Of the three I toured, one was ranked #1 in the country, another was well known for it's co-op program and strong academics, and the third was known for partying and business . . . neither of which was up my avenue. Surprisingly, I felt very much more at home at University #3, demonstrating to me that while academics are important, the facilities and feeling you get while at a school is far more important. I think that if you feel comfortable there, you can learn much better and then meet your full potential.
So, as we toured two schools in our new town (sending them on an hour long bus ride just to get to school was out of the question, especially since it meant they were in French immersion), I kept this lesson in mind.
The Catholic school "front line" of this new and well equiped school was very much unwelcoming. Even though I called a week in advance and asked for a tour and to meet the principal, I was only allowed in the office long enough to leave my name and number and have the principal call me back later. Not only did it seem as though they didn't care whether I sent my kids there, it seemed as though they just did not want me. In spite of my Catholic background. Not a great start for Mormons in a small town Catholic school.
The public school was very warm and welcoming. Unfortunately, the receptionist remembered me completely from my previous trip there. (Refresh your memory here.) She even guessed who Jackson was off the bat. The principal took us on a tour of his meek and very outdated school. (We are talking about 1927 school house with a bell on it.) It had been renovated, in 1985, to include a gym. The floors and desks seemed to have been around since the school first opened and the only thing modern was surprisingly "smart boards" in every single classroom. The principal appologized for the poor facility and said that he totally understood if we would choose the Catholic school over his, because, well, everyone else seemed to.
As I looked around, I saw happy kids and staff that knew everyone's name and worked hard. From the window of the "hall library" (not even a room, but an alcove in the hallway of shelves with books) I saw a fun playground for the kids to play on. Some bushed areas to make forts and hide out, and a little hill for sledding in the winter.
For sure my kids would love recess here, and since the staff had already assigned my kids parts in the Christmas concert, it seemed easy to slide right into this school.
But as I filled out the forms to transfer their records I stumbled across the standardized test rankings.
Pitiful. Really.
I was quite sure that anything in a rural area would be heads and shoulders above our current school where my kids are some of the only English speakers.
It is true that the school is very small and the class who was tested had only 18 students. Total. But still, should I be concerned?
The Catholic school scored decently, but the neighbouring school that our school would eventually feed into for grades 7 and 8 had very strong results.
So I find I am back to square one.
Catholic or public? Or do I try to weasel them into the neighbouring school with some financial bribery?
Time is running out. And quickly.
Tonight Was A Good Night
Tonight was good.
Great, in fact.
The kids all polished off their dinners without me even having to ask them. Even Jackson didn't leave a drop of alfredo sauce or salad dressing. Or even lettuce leaves. (Usually Jackson touches his food with a fork prong and then claims he is too full for anything and leaves the table.)
(I suppose it helped that I made homemade penne alfredo, but the salad was well tolerated and that was a surprise.)
We had such a peaceful dinner that we even had a decadent dessert . . . brownie cheesecake.
And, I was able to clean up afterwards while the kids went up stairs to get into their pj's. There wasn't any fighting, yelling, pleading, heads hitting walls . . . So, after teeth were brushed and scriptures read, I felt energetic enough to read everyone their choice of story. (This is our "usual" routine, but have not seen it for a while since dinners and bedtime routines have rarely followed this pattern for some time.)
And after everyone was tucked nicely into bed, (or screaming in their crib), I was able to settle down and watch the "Office."
Yes, tonight was a good night. It reminded me of how much I enjoy my children.
Which is good. Because yesterday, well, yesterday three little people almost didn't make it to see the morning.
Great, in fact.
The kids all polished off their dinners without me even having to ask them. Even Jackson didn't leave a drop of alfredo sauce or salad dressing. Or even lettuce leaves. (Usually Jackson touches his food with a fork prong and then claims he is too full for anything and leaves the table.)
(I suppose it helped that I made homemade penne alfredo, but the salad was well tolerated and that was a surprise.)
We had such a peaceful dinner that we even had a decadent dessert . . . brownie cheesecake.
And, I was able to clean up afterwards while the kids went up stairs to get into their pj's. There wasn't any fighting, yelling, pleading, heads hitting walls . . . So, after teeth were brushed and scriptures read, I felt energetic enough to read everyone their choice of story. (This is our "usual" routine, but have not seen it for a while since dinners and bedtime routines have rarely followed this pattern for some time.)
And after everyone was tucked nicely into bed, (or screaming in their crib), I was able to settle down and watch the "Office."
Yes, tonight was a good night. It reminded me of how much I enjoy my children.
Which is good. Because yesterday, well, yesterday three little people almost didn't make it to see the morning.
November 10, 2009
H1M1
There is a serious bug going around out here. The H1M1 (House 1, Monday 1).
My house has been sick for quite some time, but lately, it has gotten even worse. Usually, it just has a good vomit fest on Mondays . . . but these days, it seems to have extended to every day of the week.
In fact, my house has passed this virus on to the laundry and garbage. I keep emptying containers, and they keep overflowing again and again . . . within minutes it seems.
Clothing and toys seem to spew from every corner.
The experts say that there is no vaccine available yet and that my only hope is to treat the symptoms.
I am hoping that the act of packing will help treat the symptoms and, hopefully with a few weeks of isolation in boxes, our belongings will not carry any of the live virus to the new house.
My house has been sick for quite some time, but lately, it has gotten even worse. Usually, it just has a good vomit fest on Mondays . . . but these days, it seems to have extended to every day of the week.
In fact, my house has passed this virus on to the laundry and garbage. I keep emptying containers, and they keep overflowing again and again . . . within minutes it seems.
Clothing and toys seem to spew from every corner.
The experts say that there is no vaccine available yet and that my only hope is to treat the symptoms.
I am hoping that the act of packing will help treat the symptoms and, hopefully with a few weeks of isolation in boxes, our belongings will not carry any of the live virus to the new house.
Costume Found
Avery's missing costume was finally found, a week later.
Apparently, I checked all the garbages except the laundry room garbage.
Apparently, I checked all the garbages except the laundry room garbage.
For Those Sitting on Pins and Needles
Some photos of the interior of our house . . . with the drywall.
(I know that for most of you, actually all of you, watching our house go up is probably akin to watching grass grow, but nonetheless . . . )
Garage.
Kitchen. Can't you just see some green topiaries or herb pots sitting on the window sill?
Family Room. I can't wait to see the mantle. We upgraded it since we will be hanging the TV above. We still haven't decided what to do about the wall we took out between this room and the dining room beside it. Maybe we'll do some French pocket doors one day . . .
Dining Room. I am so glad we took out the columns that come standard under the archway.
Laundry Room. A tight space considering there's a washer, dryer, tub/cabinet going in there AND it is our mud room.
Hallway/Foyer. I'm hoping that seeing two tables diagonal from each other won't be too weird. I am currenly on the hunt for a square table that extends to seat 12 . . . anyone know of one in Canada?
Living Room. The piano will go against the far wall and we are going to find the largest Christmas tree possible to go in the front window. Won't that be so pretty? Especially in a construction site?
Stairway. (Eventually there will be a railing with metal pickets.)
All in all, it looks pretty good. Although, now that the walls are in it does make the rooms feel a lot tighter. I try to keep telling myself that it is merely because we don't have furniture in there to see it "relative to anything." I hope so. 3400 sq ft should not feel small!
We are pretty excited about moving in though. Here's our Top Five:
1. The new appliances. That's really exciting for me . . . except I am a little nervous about having a gas stove with our children. Any one have experience with that?
2. We're excited for Brad's shorter commute.
3. Excited to be in a country setting. And close to great sledding hills this winter.
4. Getting out of this place. (We have had a leak from the master shower into the kitchen for over a year now and the mold is really getting gross in both the shower and the kitchen.)
5. A brand-new kitchen . . . with tons of storage space. I've already mapped out where everything is going . . . I just hope it is as big as I think. (But since I was really stretching to fill cupboards with making a "play-doh" and "Guillermo" drawer, I guess I have some wiggle room. ;) )
Today I Am Grateful That
the garbage man comes by 8am.
Seriously, it is embarrassing that we have so much garbage all the time. Granted, we are moving, and we did clean out our garage and 1/4 of our basement this past week . . . but our regular garbage pile isn't ideal anyway.
We have a two bag limit and most weeks we average about 4. Ooops!
I am sure the garbage man just cringes every time he comes near our house. Maybe I will make him some cookies??
November 9, 2009
Packing
We are now in the midst of the "great" pack.
Our last move was a bit of a nightmare. About half of our stuff lay hiding in closets, dark corners, underneath furniture until a few hours before the truck was loaded. I am still haunted by thoughts of throwing armfuls of "junk" into boxes, thinking, 'There can't be much more!' only to find that there were another five boxes that lurked beneath the one pile.
In our defence, we hadn't even signed a lease to move until about 6 weeks prior to the move . . . and I was two months pregnant, while trying to care for a three year old and a one year old. AND, our little town house left little space for any boxes to be stacked up.
Nonetheless, we have been determined to avoid the nighmare that was our last move and so we have carefully scheduled our packing. And I have scanned the internet for efficient packing and moving techniques.
They are a beautiful sight.
My boxes, that is.
We have since learned to invest in U-haul/Penske boxes, even if they cost a bit. (It ensures that we won't have cockroach eggs or bugs in there.) And, I have them all colour-coded, numbered and have the contents listed on a note pad that is carried around in our "moving supplies bag."
Well, for the most part. My system worked pretty well until we hit the basement boxes. I thought that all my work last February would prove useful and would have cut our work time to about an hour . . . but it still took ages to get through the "wall of boxes." I had to make up a lot more basement tags and what exactly do you write for "more junk?"
At the two hour mark I got fed up with it all and wanted to move over to the Christmas section of our basement, you know, for a change of scenery. Brad called me back, stating that I was lazy for not finishing the first job. However, after going back and finding mostly his books, papers, and reports from BYU classes and UCMT, I called him on slothfulness when instead of sorting through things and tossing them, he would just dump one box into another and tape it up.
"One day we will have to face these demons," I chided. "No, not likely," was his reply.
Maybe next summer would be a good time to sort through the rest of our basement skeletons?
Fortunately, the "unknown" boxes are stacked neatly in our garage (thanks to Brad) and we can go back to our brilliant packing system.
It's really hard to believe we only have three weeks left. And still so much left to pack. Yikes!
Our last move was a bit of a nightmare. About half of our stuff lay hiding in closets, dark corners, underneath furniture until a few hours before the truck was loaded. I am still haunted by thoughts of throwing armfuls of "junk" into boxes, thinking, 'There can't be much more!' only to find that there were another five boxes that lurked beneath the one pile.
In our defence, we hadn't even signed a lease to move until about 6 weeks prior to the move . . . and I was two months pregnant, while trying to care for a three year old and a one year old. AND, our little town house left little space for any boxes to be stacked up.
Nonetheless, we have been determined to avoid the nighmare that was our last move and so we have carefully scheduled our packing. And I have scanned the internet for efficient packing and moving techniques.
They are a beautiful sight.
My boxes, that is.
We have since learned to invest in U-haul/Penske boxes, even if they cost a bit. (It ensures that we won't have cockroach eggs or bugs in there.) And, I have them all colour-coded, numbered and have the contents listed on a note pad that is carried around in our "moving supplies bag."
Well, for the most part. My system worked pretty well until we hit the basement boxes. I thought that all my work last February would prove useful and would have cut our work time to about an hour . . . but it still took ages to get through the "wall of boxes." I had to make up a lot more basement tags and what exactly do you write for "more junk?"
At the two hour mark I got fed up with it all and wanted to move over to the Christmas section of our basement, you know, for a change of scenery. Brad called me back, stating that I was lazy for not finishing the first job. However, after going back and finding mostly his books, papers, and reports from BYU classes and UCMT, I called him on slothfulness when instead of sorting through things and tossing them, he would just dump one box into another and tape it up.
"One day we will have to face these demons," I chided. "No, not likely," was his reply.
Maybe next summer would be a good time to sort through the rest of our basement skeletons?
Fortunately, the "unknown" boxes are stacked neatly in our garage (thanks to Brad) and we can go back to our brilliant packing system.
It's really hard to believe we only have three weeks left. And still so much left to pack. Yikes!
Sometimes . . .
You have days where you feel like this.
Nothing seems to go your way and any attempt to fix things somehow makes it worse.
Fortunately, there are "tomorrows" and, with the knowledge of what a burr bush looks like and does, there is the prospect that "tomorrow" will be better.
To The Kinkos Man . . .
Thank you.
Thank you for seeing that my brain has been fried all day long by whining children home on a PD Day. Insomuch that I could not figure out how to work the photocopier. Or, that I was clumsily trying to copy page after page with a stapled document . . . 30 pages long while holding a screaming and wild child in my other hand.
Thank you for seeing that the other two whirlwinds with me were taking my concentration from my copying to the candy they were finding through out the store.
Thank you, for making my copies, even though I was at the self-serve counter.
I know I said "Thanks" while I was at the store, but really, "Thank you."
You made my Kinkos trip worth the 30 minute drive in traffic both ways and the 7 minutes of driving around the parking lot looking for spots to park worthwhile.
Thank you for seeing that my brain has been fried all day long by whining children home on a PD Day. Insomuch that I could not figure out how to work the photocopier. Or, that I was clumsily trying to copy page after page with a stapled document . . . 30 pages long while holding a screaming and wild child in my other hand.
Thank you for seeing that the other two whirlwinds with me were taking my concentration from my copying to the candy they were finding through out the store.
Thank you, for making my copies, even though I was at the self-serve counter.
I know I said "Thanks" while I was at the store, but really, "Thank you."
You made my Kinkos trip worth the 30 minute drive in traffic both ways and the 7 minutes of driving around the parking lot looking for spots to park worthwhile.
November 6, 2009
January
It seems like everyone bemoans January.
I know I certainly have in the past.
Nothing really exciting happens other than bills and the remnants of Christmas to put away for another year.
This year, we are excitedly counting down for January.
2009 has not been the best of years . . . from house heartbreaks and stresses, too many funerals, and then the stress of building a new house and office . . . and then paying for it. ;) Add to that moving and swine flu and you have a year that will not be greatly missed.
Yes, things were somewhat exciting, but for the most part we spent the year on the edge of our seats, up and down, riding a crazy roller coaster.
Fortunately, things look good from December on. I mean, who could be sad at Christmas time? (Unless all Santa will be bringing them is toilet paper roll holders . . . which is very likely this year.) And after that, things look very good for work in the new year. We have our vaccines, so hopefully we'll be healthy for winter, and with only a few weeks before the birth of baby number four, 2010 has got to be better.
So, admidst all this craziness of packing and moving . . . I am feverishly counting down for January. It just may be the first "calm" month for us in a long time.
I know I certainly have in the past.
Nothing really exciting happens other than bills and the remnants of Christmas to put away for another year.
This year, we are excitedly counting down for January.
2009 has not been the best of years . . . from house heartbreaks and stresses, too many funerals, and then the stress of building a new house and office . . . and then paying for it. ;) Add to that moving and swine flu and you have a year that will not be greatly missed.
Yes, things were somewhat exciting, but for the most part we spent the year on the edge of our seats, up and down, riding a crazy roller coaster.
Fortunately, things look good from December on. I mean, who could be sad at Christmas time? (Unless all Santa will be bringing them is toilet paper roll holders . . . which is very likely this year.) And after that, things look very good for work in the new year. We have our vaccines, so hopefully we'll be healthy for winter, and with only a few weeks before the birth of baby number four, 2010 has got to be better.
So, admidst all this craziness of packing and moving . . . I am feverishly counting down for January. It just may be the first "calm" month for us in a long time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)