Tomorrow the movers come to pack my house.
I hope they don't overflow the toilet this time.
So now we are down to zero hour - and I will be effectively homeless for the next ten days. No bed of my own, no access to my favorite towels. And I won't be able to start any new and fascinating projects to not finish.
This part always scares me.
First of all, I'm scared that we'll get angry movers again (we usually do), like the time the ones who packed our house actually reached into my trash to retrieve a dirty diaper to pack with everything else. I KNOW they got it from the trash because my children were staying with a friend during pack up and the diaper was found three months later, packed with the kitchen goods.
I also worry about the few precious items we risk moving around with us - like the china plates that moved across the west from Tennessee to California with my great-grandmother in 1905. You should have seen the fit I pitched during the moving episode when the packers put them willy nilly into a big box and labeled them - DISH SET: INCOMPLETE, CRACKED, AND BROKEN.
For the record, those spiderweb things aren't CRACKS, people! That is what normally happens to that type of plate as it ages!
Yes, I did take care of that right away and it involved repacking. And a grumbling mover, but somethings are worth the irritation.
I also worry very much about our second most precious item that is not a child - a china hutch that AirForceGuy lovingly refinished for me when my parents decided they no longer wanted it. It's a particularly fun conversational piece of furniture - it used to reside in the Wrigley Mansion on Catalina Island.
So if you are the praying type, you might want to put in a good word with the Man Upstairs that this all goes smoothly. I just don't feel up to cleaning up the what happens when movers have bathroom issues this time.