Our big move, which was supposed to have taken place this week, has been delayed. Right now we’re looking at the end of July as the official move dates, but until we have purchased plane tickets, I don’t think I’ll believe any “official” dates to be actually official. Le sigh.
It’s fine — thinking we only had six weeks to purge, pack, and move, I got so much done during the month of May that our to-do list is very manageable now. Although with an extra four weeks to get ready, I keep adding little things to the list that just wouldn’t have been possible to get done before. Matt loves that.
We’ve been eight months in limbo, though.
That’s a long time to not want to really plan too far in advance, to put off trips, projects, and purchases because you don’t know where you’ll be living.
And it’s anxiety-inducing as well. I have hit the point though, where my attitude is basically “Eff It, We’ll See What Happens”. I guess, if nothing else, I’ve learned that my tolerance for major stress lasts approximately seven months before I give in and stop caring. Good to know?
Either way, we’re still planning to leave this summer. God help me if we get pushed back into Fall and I have to bring the kids to school here.
I haven’t registered Q for kindergarten, I wonder if I should? Eff It. We’ll see what happens.