I always get a little bit annoyed when people say they are too busy to do something. For the most part, I believe that if you want or need to do something, you will make the time for it to happen.
I'm starting to revise my stance on this.
The past week has been INSANE. One week ago today, CV and I were congratulating ourselves on getting all three kids to bed in an efficient and timely manner, and I was unpacking a minimum of stuff before collapsing into bed in a sniffling, snotty heap after a long, busy day of lugging stuff down my two flights of stairs and up the matching two at CV's. Just one week ago. That's all. Seven days.
It already feels like a lifetime ago. I've been back to the condo almost every day since, picking up last-minute items or putting things out on the porch for Freecyclers to pick up. When I walk into what Maddie, Riley, and I call "the old house," I either feel no emotions at all or a rush of negativity. All I can see when I'm there is what I have left to do before the first open house this weekend, and all I remember is the bad. I'm sure some of this is self-protection. I've made a decision to move on, and my mind is wise enough to make sure I think my decision is the right one. But m0re than that, I think it's sign that my decision is the right one. It's telling that the only time in the past week that I've really lost my shit with the kids was back at the old house. Sure, the kids were underfoot as I was trying to accomplish some last-minute packing, but the anger I felt and the negativity I spewed was disproportionate to the situation, and I'm sure a product of the setting.
We've settled into an easy, if hectic, routine here at CV's. All three kids are doing amazingly well with the transition. They are sharing a room with mimimal issues and, in fact, some benefits. CV's daughter, N, seems to enjoy the company in the morning and, rather than screaming for CV upon waking, is content to chat with Maddie and Riley for a while before getting up. The kids seem happy for either CV or me or both of us to come get them up in the morning, allowing one of us to shower or make breakfast or whatever while the other pulls kids out of cribs. Bedtime has been equally pain-free; we all pile into my bed for stories, and then the kids get tucked in, songs are sung, and sleeping ensues. OK, sleeping ensues after a few reminders to pipe down. But still. There have been a few night wakings, but Maddie and Riley both have pretty wicked coughs, and I think the wakings have more to do with that and less to do with having three kids in one room.
We do laundry constantly. We run the dishwasher almost every day. It's going to be a good while before all of my boxes are unpacked and all of my stuff finds a home. I need to repaint my room. There's plenty of work still to be done. But I feel so comfortable, and Maddie and Riley clearly do, too. They have never asked to go back to the old house, and fully expect that we'll be headed to CV and N's after school. When Maddie, Riley, and I arrive home before the others, they are clealry disappointed that we're the only ones home. Maddie has been wearing N's clothes some days. They have hilarious converstaions when they wake up in the morning: "You yell 'Mama.' NO! Not like that! LOUDER!" It's a little crazy, but a good kind of crazy.
After months of being bored during the day at work, I'm now flat-out, with more to do than one person can realistically accomplish, but not enough overflow to justify hiring a temp or another employee. Murphy's Law that the timing would work out that way, but so be it. At least I have some job security.
I confess to having underestimated the amount of time it takes to get a house ready to put on the market. I really like my agent, and he's been very supportive and understanding. But you know how it is when you pack up a house. The first three-quarters of the packing goes great. The last quarter? Disaster. Stuff starts breeding like rabbits when you're not looking. You run out of boxes that are just the right size. You run out of boxes period. You can't decide what to keep and what to get rid of. Your stuff multiplies again. You seal the box of summer clothes, lug it to the basement, then find a pair of shorts. Sigh.
As if that weren't bad enough, I met with a professional house stager on Friday. Oh, boy, was that torture akin to getting my nails pulled out one by one with rusty pliers. The stager was just doing her job, but I was overwhelmed by the cumulative stress of a busy week at work and the realization of just how much remained for me to do. And while yes, the stager was just doing her job, she could have been a little more . . . tactful. Is it really necessary to say, "That kitchen rug has to go. I mean, if it were a nice rug, OK. But not that." A simple, "I don't think you need to leave that rug" would suffice, thank you.
I'm taking a half day off tomorrow to deal with the last-minute clean out before the photographer arrives on Wednesday to take pictures to post on the Internet listings in anticipation of the first open house this coming weekend. A price has been determined. I'm so ready for this to be done. I would love, love, love to get a reasonable offer this weekend and just put this all behind me. Keep your fingers crossed.