In less than 96 hours the movers will be here to pack up our rental house. Our third move in three years ... if you're keeping track.
Which means that I will be a crazy person for the next few days. Boxing up all the appliances I didn't put into storage in Belgium. Organizing the garage so all the furniture I ordered can be delivered over the next two days. Packing up the bags we'll be living out of until we get to our final destination in Virginia. Sometime in the next eight weeks.
I'll also be celebrating a birthday during this busy time. One that brings me wee close to 40. Which, as I told Matt a few months ago, is totally the new thirty. That is, unless you're still in you're thirties. For at least one more year. *ahem*
I may also be getting my nose lasered again. On my special day. Because apparently there isn't enough stress going on in my life over the next few days, and nothing says, "happy birthday" better than an ugly, swollen nose. And laundry. And packing. And labeling the house. And organizing. And last minute moving issues. Which I already know I'm dealing with today.
Though I wished to have spent our last weekend in our rental house at the beach. Relaxing. Going for a bike ride. Enjoying the scenery. We won't be. And we're OK with it. As long as it's the last time Matt has to bid out for awhile.
Which, of course ... it isn't.
But it is the last time we're moving. For awhile.
Insanity to ensue ... starting now.