I promise not to turn this into a moving blog. That would be boring.
Oddly enough, I haven't really been stewing over the logistics of our move, even though it's less than a month out. Not that I'm not doing anything; I just haven't been stewing over it. That's my husband's job. He's very good at stewing, so I've let him take on that job.
Not that he's just stewing; in between sleepless nights and worrying about the cost of housing in California, he did get about 25 moving company quotes and created a spreadsheet outlining our moving schedule. It's pretty intricate, I have to tell you. The only idea that he came up with that I can't stomach is his suggestion that we have the moving van pack up the house a week before we actually move, and we'll spend the last three days...also known as the last three days that Peaches will be in school...at an extended stay hotel. Yay. The last week in the city in which she grew up and she gets to live in a hotel.
I want to send some props out to my friend Claire. When she heard about the hotel plan, she informed me that we were mistaken; we are staying at their house. She then followed this with a description of the types of people who sometimes make their homes in extended stay hotels. Oh, don't worry, dear reader, I'm not talking about you. I know that lots of relocating families stay at them, and I've worked with dozens of people who have visited our fair city for work and called one of them home for a month or so. But did you know that extended stay hotels are also crash pads for...ummm...working folks who, for whatever reason, are incapable of maintaining an apartment? Think about that when your thirteen year old girl asks if she can use the swimming pool.
Oh, one more thing. Claire and her husband (who is also good friends with my husband, so there's no issue there) have the biggest house of anyone I know, and trust me when I say I know plenty of people with really big houses. Plus, their two girls are off at school and won't be back till the following week. I think they might actually be a little lonely.
So later that day I informed the husband that we're staying with Claire and her family. The conversation went sort of like this:
Me: "Claire wants us to stay with her instead of at a hotel".
Husband: "Hmmm...I don't know, let's talk about it."
Me: "There's nothing to talk about. We're doing it."
See? One less thing for him to stew about. And they say I'm no help at all.