We didn't lose the baby. I don't think. Wait...where'd he go? *big grin*
So, yes, today we are knee-deep in boxes, well, more like chest-deep. They are stacked in every corner, by every piece of furniture. Whereever you turn...there they are. I'm imagining a Stephen King novel called "Attack of the Cardboard Boxes". Yeah, pretty scary stuff.
For now, NO ONE is allowed to touch them. No one but ME! That's right. I prefer to do the unpacking all by myself. That way everything goes where it needs to go and not just thrown around. Hubby doesn't argue because he hates moving/unpacking. He takes the kids to the park, to the store, out for dinner...and I get set up house. LOVE IT!
It's amazing to me that our whole lives are packed into all these boxes. Each one a small snapshot of our lives. From a vox of DVDs to a tub of toys, what do they say about us? I'm sure I'm being too philisophical for a mid-week blog post, and it's probably because I'm too tired. Maybe once the insanity recides, I can see more clearly and turn this paragraph into a more formal post.
I'll keep this short for now. These boxes aren't going to unpack themselves. Although, how cool would that be? In the meantime, how do you feel about moving--love it, hate it? Any good moving stories out there? Let's dish!