Moved, that is.
Remember that ill-fated post of yore wherein I waxed poetic about good fortune, the Universe, and Other People’s Big Fancy Houses?
The Other People sold their Big Fancy House. In six weeks.
How could this be? This expensive home was supposed to sit on the market for at least six months, probably even a year. That was the word on the street, and that’s why we chose to rent it while we built our own home. We’re no dummies, you know. No, not us.
Remember my most recent post wherein I bragged about our family’s extravagant summer fun?
If my post today had photos, they’d show a summer filled with packing tape and mountains of clothes and dishes wrapped in paper and electrical cords in big piles and sticky thrown-out condiments and lint under the now-removed dryer and sweaty men from the ward hauling boxes and my kids sitting, sitting, sitting in front of the tv while their mother spins madly around them in her own disastrous world, oblivious to the needs of her blithely ignored offspring.
Derrick, of course, has been working around the clock, mostly out of town, for the duration of this adventure. It just so happened that the week we had to be out (we had a whopping two weeks to vacate) he was locked in his Vancouver office drafting the biggest proposal of his career. No pressure there. He made it back just in time to haul boxes with the sweaty men and worked as hard as he could to make up for being gone.
If this post did include photos, I’d make the largest, clearest one a snapshot of a lovely stucco home in West Kennewick where we now will reside for the next four to five months (knock on wood, toss the salt) while we build our home.
It belongs to Rod and Cindy.
Yeah, we’re living with my parents.