The reality of moving house is sinking in. Meltdowns are becoming all the fashion here. Today I am trying desperately to get a handle on packing all over the house, evaluating what needs to be packed when and what will need to go to the new house first.
It boggles my mind to think of how many boxes it will take to transport a middle class family of eight one hour south-east. There are eight of us living here now, and with Grandma it will be nine at the new house. Each of us has our own hobbies and interests(Dad: church study, Louis Lamour, and yard work. Jennifer: Ballet and shoes. Caleb: cameras and computers. The rest of the boys: junk). I myself have a full closet of just historical costumes, and twelve plastic tubs of material, two(soon to be three) sewing machines and a huge file drawer of patterns and sewing miscellanea. Jennifer and I together have three whole bookshelves of our own libraries, which comes out to about fifteen boxes of books. It's overwhelming.
Our moving schedule is also very ambitious. We take possession on a Tuesday; we plan to paint, tear out carpet, and buy appliances from Wednesday through Friday. On Saturday we plan to rent a truck and move the furniture and most of the boxes. The following week Grandma will move in with us.
Is that even humanly possible?