My house is… quiet. It’s a wonderful noise.

My husband, who is an incredibly wise man, and who also knows when to act in self-preservation as well as the preservation of the Spawn That Came From My Loins, has taken said Spawn to the movies.

She’s really a very good Spawn, but I’ve been working like crazy today as I begin the oh-so-enjoyable task called Packing The House. And Spawn likes to help. In her own inimitable fashion. She:

throws her toys into the box of books that I’m packing
begs pleads whines cries to be allowed to help pack the very breakable knicknacks
nags me to make a box for her
throws anything that’s not nailed down into the box
tries to pack the cat
cries when the cat scratches her
asks me if we’re taking the couch to the new house
asks me if we’re taking the tv to the new house
asks me if we’re taking the pillows to the new house
asks me if we’re taking the [insert every single possible item in the house] to the new house
throws a fit when she sees the bag of her (outgrown) clothes that is headed for Goodwill: “Those are MINE!!”

and on and on…

We don’t close on the sale of the house we’re selling until January 28th, but it looks like we might be closing on the house we’re buying in about a week. (Short sale!) This required a bit of minor jiggery with financing, however it’s also a huge relief to me since I was dreading the thought of trying to move this entire frickin’ house in essentially one day. Now, with several weeks to make the move, I can delude myself into thinking that we’ll be able to get things organized from the get-go, as well as get rid of all of our extraneous stuff.

Do NOT challenge this delusion.