Because as my husband has painfully learned, they change frequently, and without notice. I’d like to think it makes me quirky. D likens it to my “jewish shopping outfits” and bug eyed glasses. Just another one of those nature vs. nurture arguments, (and nature always wins, in case you were wondering).
But that’s not what this post is about. It’s about moving (gag) and finding things within one of the craziest, tear fest inducing, calculate every cent to make sure ends meet, can’t find two matching socks and having to haul eighteen loads of laundry to the Laundromat and talk to a man my age in socks and no shoes about his long lost love who just left him because of his bad vibes, who happened to be his cat kind of weeks.
That just might be the longest sentence I’ve ever written. And all of it was true.
Item number one? Moving boxes. But these aren’t just regular moving boxes, my friends. Because we’ve moved twelve times in ten years (and cardboard boxes are freakishly expensive), we reduce reuse and recycle them. As a result, next to hastily scrawled crossed out labels like china, and then kids’ books, are also things like this:
Amazingness. That was little Miss M writing her own labels when she was in kinder.
And this. My budding artist, a few moves ago. Priceless.
This is my little bubba happily sitting with me, in our new YARD with GRASS and SUNSHINE. Having a picnic, on a Friday afternoon with no shoes on. Flipping fantastic. We took pictures of each other to mark the happy day.
And finally, (spoiler alert), my little bookworm only wanted one thing from the Easter Bunny. She’s discovered Shel Silverstein, at exactly the same age that I did. It may be narcissistic of me, but this indelible proof of our shared genes makes me gooey inside.
These are just a few of my favorite things, and the reason my sanity remains intact…until our next laundromat trip. Then all bets are off.