Moving sucks rotten eggs. It's why we stayed in our first house so long - the one we fixed up over the course of a decade. We put in new windows and a deck, added light fixtures and upgraded electrical outlets that somehow ended up with EVERY single one of them being crooked.
Anyway, moving stinks, and I'm bad at it. Even after the 4th move in 18 months, I'm bad at it. Each time, I think, "Hey, I'm getting the hang of this!" Then we get settled and I can't find my favorite shoes or my toothbrush or my dog. That rusted cookie sheet that should've been pitched five years ago - yep, that's here. Now where the flip is my TV remote?!
Thankfully, we've finally settled for good. My husband has promised not to apply for any jobs out of driving range - at least for the next five or six or twenty years. We made the decision to stay put so that Monsoon can grow up around family.
That being said, I was leary about the rash decision to buy our little house. I like to mull things over, consider all my options, wade around the shallow end before jumping off the high dive. Dear husband has the tendancy to cannon ball himself into the pool next to me, soaking me with his tidal wave before I've even dipped my little toe.
So it was like that when he wanted this house and I went along with it, nervous and figety for weeks while we painted walls and refinished floors.
When were almost ready to move in, I took the liberty of returning all the outlet covers to their rightful place on the walls. And guess what?
EVERY single one of them is crooked. Every. Single. One.
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