It's no small task to take down a house, tote it across town, and put it back up again in different order. I stood on chairs in the rental kitchen today to pull down Seth's long strips of cutout train drawings that had kept us company at every meal for the past several months. I had already stripped the fridge-front of magnets. Like the bowl-of-green-jello magnet from the Salt Lake Olympics and the retro housewife-washing-dishes magnet that says "If by 'happy', you mean, trapped with no means of escape...then, yes, I'm happy!" from bosom buddy, Sara B. I filled up several boxes of cook books and wondered, as I perused the titles, why had I unpacked these in the first place when they haven't been cracked open even for company. Then, I threw out used nipples (of the baby bottle sort), found the long-lost glue gun, and began wondering, again, is all of this stuff necessary? Like, our couches. I hate our couches. But Dr. Gooch insists we need something to sit on until he can afford to buy couches that I don't hate. His insistence persists, even against my pleas to put the puffy eyesores on Craig's List. There are two things Dr. Gooch won't budge on (and only two): keeping ugly blue overstuffed couches and not getting a dog. What can I do? I'm in love.
Maybe this move will turn over a new leaf on our tree of stuff. A grand purge will occur and we will make it all do without the dribble of accumulation.
So, finally, all the rascals were tuckered and tucked and I pondered all the above. Then ate something out of the freezer and sipped a lemonade brought to me by the Dr. himself and pulled up to my second love (Mr. Mac) to find a new bathing suit online and something to hold all my headbands.