Yes, I am. I suck. I know.
Everyone came on over a few posts back and here I've dropped the ball on wining and dining you all to keep you around.
I do have an excuse though . . . besides the obvious, of course . . .
We're moving!
Well, not we as in real life me. The only things getting packed up are in the bloggy world. My longest year is over, so it's time to move on to a happier place. Or, at least, it should be a happier place. We shall see.
So, get your blogrolls and readers ready (unless, of course, you could care less and would be happy to see this blog covered in cobwebs). I'll be back on Thursday to give a grand tour of the new digs. There's still some construction and painting going on, so you can't come over just yet.
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
And Here I Sit
A cat-hiding rule breaker in a completely dark and quiet room. The only light is from the computer, and the only sound is the snoring baby . . . and the keyboard . . . and the dumbass meowing cats . . . and the fucking crickets . . . and the trucks roaring by on the highway.
Here I sit, in a Holiday Inn. After two days of driving and wanting to throw my stepmother out the window. Two days of listening to endless nagging about just taking the kid out of her car seat to feed her, and about just turning her car seat around because her feet touch the seat back (if I have to explain about internal decapitation one more time . . .).
In the past two days I have dealt with:
~Being expected to drive all night with the kid and then be coherant enough to take care of her the next day.
~Truckers. Obnoxious truckers driving side-by-side at 50 miles an hour for 40 miles.
~Parental units. You want mine? Take them. They're all yours. I'll throw in the father-in-law as a freebie.
~Extracting three cats from their hiding spots under the hotel bed you thought they couldn't get under. Only accomplished by literally removing the mattress and bedsprings.
~A nursing strike. You want pain? Try having your kid go from nursing 7 times a day to 2.
~Milk. Exploding. Everywhere. (Since the child wouldn't nurse, we had to do the sippy. After setting a container of the frozen stuff on the dash to thaw during lunch, we came back to find puddles of milk everywhere. Thank God I had it far enough away from the vents.)
~General loosing of my mind. I'll thank all involved parties for this one.
~The House. This one gets a post of it's own, preferably accompanied by pictures. I'll give you a teaser though . . . hundreds of dead spiders, live roaches, 20+ year old appliances, ceiling so dirty you could write your name on it (if you could reach it), and a surprise diagnosis of having gas heat instead of electric. Which, of course, needs to be serviced and hooked up properly. And, of course, isn't going to happen in any timely matter.
Hence, the hotel.
I'll be back after some harsh words with the rental company, an appointment with a steam cleaner, and a few hard drinks.
Here I sit, in a Holiday Inn. After two days of driving and wanting to throw my stepmother out the window. Two days of listening to endless nagging about just taking the kid out of her car seat to feed her, and about just turning her car seat around because her feet touch the seat back (if I have to explain about internal decapitation one more time . . .).
In the past two days I have dealt with:
~Being expected to drive all night with the kid and then be coherant enough to take care of her the next day.
~Truckers. Obnoxious truckers driving side-by-side at 50 miles an hour for 40 miles.
~Parental units. You want mine? Take them. They're all yours. I'll throw in the father-in-law as a freebie.
~Extracting three cats from their hiding spots under the hotel bed you thought they couldn't get under. Only accomplished by literally removing the mattress and bedsprings.
~A nursing strike. You want pain? Try having your kid go from nursing 7 times a day to 2.
~Milk. Exploding. Everywhere. (Since the child wouldn't nurse, we had to do the sippy. After setting a container of the frozen stuff on the dash to thaw during lunch, we came back to find puddles of milk everywhere. Thank God I had it far enough away from the vents.)
~General loosing of my mind. I'll thank all involved parties for this one.
~The House. This one gets a post of it's own, preferably accompanied by pictures. I'll give you a teaser though . . . hundreds of dead spiders, live roaches, 20+ year old appliances, ceiling so dirty you could write your name on it (if you could reach it), and a surprise diagnosis of having gas heat instead of electric. Which, of course, needs to be serviced and hooked up properly. And, of course, isn't going to happen in any timely matter.
Hence, the hotel.
I'll be back after some harsh words with the rental company, an appointment with a steam cleaner, and a few hard drinks.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
This Is A New One
Four moves in three years, and I've learned a lot of valuable tidbits of information along the way. Such as:
~If something is painted blue, it will rub on your couch in the one spot that isn't covered.
~Fishtanks break. Especially when the elevator door closes on them.
~Nothing ever goes back together again the same way. That desk will always wobble and that chair will always creak.
~Sleeper sofas are a bitch to get up and down three flights of stairs.
~Never, ever throw away a box. Otherwise you'll be wishing you still had what that table/microwave/sewing machine came in.
~Flirt with the box boys at the grocery store and those egg boxes are all yours.
~Putting the screws to every unassembled piece of furniture in one bag is a really, really bad idea.
~Rubbermaid totes are not meant to be filled with textbooks. Nor are they meant to be so full even duct tape won't hold.
~Do not pack the toilet paper. Last thing in, first thing out.
~9 months pregnant really is a great time to move. Telling other people where to put those boxes is a lot more fun than carrying them.
~It's never to early to start packing. Heck, why unpack? Keep half your stuff in boxes, ready to go!
But, the most valuable thing I learned while packing today? Do not try to pack up an 11 month old's room while they are with you. Book in the box, book out of the box. Dress in the box, dress out of the box. Stuffies in the box, screaming tantrum from the child. More toys in the box, absolutely livid child. Child in the box, much more fun.
It doesn't help that she's still in the stage where gnawing off chunks of the cardboard is appealing. I got bit more times than I could count, while fishing out soggy bits and pieces.
~If something is painted blue, it will rub on your couch in the one spot that isn't covered.
~Fishtanks break. Especially when the elevator door closes on them.
~Nothing ever goes back together again the same way. That desk will always wobble and that chair will always creak.
~Sleeper sofas are a bitch to get up and down three flights of stairs.
~Never, ever throw away a box. Otherwise you'll be wishing you still had what that table/microwave/sewing machine came in.
~Flirt with the box boys at the grocery store and those egg boxes are all yours.
~Putting the screws to every unassembled piece of furniture in one bag is a really, really bad idea.
~Rubbermaid totes are not meant to be filled with textbooks. Nor are they meant to be so full even duct tape won't hold.
~Do not pack the toilet paper. Last thing in, first thing out.
~9 months pregnant really is a great time to move. Telling other people where to put those boxes is a lot more fun than carrying them.
~It's never to early to start packing. Heck, why unpack? Keep half your stuff in boxes, ready to go!
But, the most valuable thing I learned while packing today? Do not try to pack up an 11 month old's room while they are with you. Book in the box, book out of the box. Dress in the box, dress out of the box. Stuffies in the box, screaming tantrum from the child. More toys in the box, absolutely livid child. Child in the box, much more fun.
It doesn't help that she's still in the stage where gnawing off chunks of the cardboard is appealing. I got bit more times than I could count, while fishing out soggy bits and pieces.
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