One morning in June of 2006, Greg and I sat in a South Jersey diner in with my parents for breakfast. Greg was about a year old, and we had moved about two weeks earlier from our condo to a 120+ yer old side hall colonial. I was telling my parents that our movers, upon seeing our new "old" house, had told us our condo was nicer and we should have stayed there. (They weren't that wrong--I would later sell the side hall colonial at a significant loss.)
I had an entire conversation with my parents about our future plans to live in that house forever, how the Mister's career was in Philadelphia, my career as a law professor was in southern NJ, obviously we were never going to go anywhere and besides I HATE moving and we were NEVER MOVING AGAIN SO HELP ME.
In two days I will be moving for the fourth time since that conversation. And I still feel pretty much the same way--I hate moving and so help me I never want to do this again. However, experience has taught me that I probably shouldn't say NEVER AGAIN. Lets just say that I sincerely hope that we aren't moving again for a mighty long time. Like, three or four years, at least.
The painting at the new house isn't finished, and probably won't be until after we move in. The mold company is supposedly finishing up tomorrow. The carpets will be cleaned tomorrow. I will also be cleaning the floors and bathrooms tomorrow, and hopefully contact-papering the kitchen. We finish packing on Wednesday, and Thursday we move.
See you on the flip side, invisible internet friends.