We’re moving soon. And I’ve hit the Point of Moving Lethargy. Packing? Who needs to pack?

I’ve moved a lot, as you may know. And it’s always the same. You give your notice, run out to the liquor store, and quickly pack up your bookshelves (you know you won’t have time to read). Then you acquire some large boxes and look around and… there’s not much you can do. You don’t want to live out of boxes. But your energy is HIGH, because something very exciting is happening, so you declutter and pack any little box that you can.

Then your high wears off as reality sets in. It’s okay because you’re 2 weeks to move date and you can legitimately start to pack more. It’s okay if we have to live with a single set of dishes each, right? And two towels a person is all you need to allot. The boxes start to stack up, and things are looking good and going well which keep you at an even keel.

And then. THEN. Then it’s tonight – and you realize you only 3 more days to get this job done. The packing sucks now, because you have 4 books in a box and one crummy dust jacket that will get crushed, and it’s okay to just chuck stuff in a box and label it “MISC,” right? No, it’s not. Misc never gets open, friend, and you know it. So now packing is a pain in the butt and your energy dips to a low that not even Red Bull can assist with.

You sit here in no-man’s land because you haven’t reached panic point, but you know it’s around the corner.

So you enjoy making helpful graphs before it does.

Wish me luck.


We’ve met some new neighbours. I’m pretty excited about it. They are moving in today but I met them a few days ago – they were wandering around their new neighbourhood, and they’re babywearers, which of course immediately caught my eye. Their 9 month old boy was strapped to mama’s back in a beautiful carrier while I walked Sweet Pea in a wrap, desperately trying to get her to sleep. My husband met them today on a walk. In a lovely neighbourly gesture, the Mrs. of this family offered to sew his buttons back on his jacket.

“What?” I ask, when he happily tells me about this exchange. “What’s wrong with your buttons? I hadn’t noticed.”

“They’re kind of unraveling, and you did notice the cuff button because you helped me put a safety pin in it’s place about a year and a half ago.”

Well there’s the truth, folks. My husband has been walking around with a large silver pin holding his jacket cuff together for a year and a half and I’ve barely noticed.

I mentioned to the Mr. that everybody seems to be doing a great job of this stay-at-home mom thing but me. “Facebook is a terrible place,” he commented. “It serves no purpose but to make yourself feel inadequate in comparison to your friends.”

Let me help you out and make you feel adequate. Allow there to be no illusions that I have it all together here. As of this moment, the baby is in a disposable diaper because I’m behind on laundry. So behind on laundry, in fact, that my blouse for today’s memorial service is still drying on a heated rack in the bathroom, and we’re leaving in half an hour. So behind on laundry that my daughter is sleeping in a onesie and footed pants rather than one of the two thousand sleepers we have in her dirty laundry bin. So behind on laundry that I used one of her tiny hooded towels for my shower today. There are dishes in the sink, and I opened a new pack of bottles just to get a lid. And a terrible secret: my Christmas tree is still standing in the corner, brightly decorated, though I dare not turn on the lights for fear the whole thing will go up in a spectacular flash of fire, because it probably hasn’t been watered in about 10 days anyway.

My husband leaves for 10 hours or so every weekday. I consider my day with Sweet Pea successful if we’re both dressed and fed and relatively happy when he gets home.

I’m excited about our new neighbours, but my terrible fear is that they’re going to knock on the door one day, and I’m going to have pull a kitchen chair into the living room and offer her a seat in front of my Christmas tree (which by the way, we’re obviously never ever having one again).

“Anyway,” says the Mr., “I guess she sews!”

My home-ec teacher would be having a fit. Poor Ms. Anderson gave up a prep block to do a private tailoring class with me, and I don’t even notice hanging buttons. So did I sew, dear readers, so did I. But I will happily let our new neighbour fix my husband’s jacket… and probably I’ll manage to take a plate of cookies over.

You know what’s great about not using our lights? We have somewhere to hang our herbs for drying! I trimmed this lovely lemon balm plant today. A gift from a  friend, and the rest will be planted in the garden.