Packing Weekend

I literally have not left the house since I came home from work on Friday.  No trips to the store, the post office or anywhere else.

I have packed boxes for two days.  33 boxes by my count, though the count sort of changes depending on whether I remember the box on the ottoman on the landing and the one booby-trapping the path to Micah's bed.

Every time I thought I had packed the last book, another stash materialized.  Right now the only books remaining are the cookbooks in the kitchen, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest and the next book on my to-read list.

But according to the guy who estimated how many barrels, cartons and other means of getting our household from Princeton to Plainsboro, 33 is a barely scratching the surface, and I am beginning to believe him.

Saturday, Thea and Micah went off to the boardwalk in Point Pleasant with their aunt, coming home with armloads of prize they had one.  More stuff for me to pack.  Six hours free to stuff boxes: fantastic, more toys to pack: not so fantastic.

When cardboard fatigue set in, I got online and put in change of addresses with journals, magazines, professional associations, licensing boards, banks and so on and so on.  The whole weekend was like a root canal that went on for 48 hours.