Our Stuff Gets Crappier With Each Move

We are here! In our new house! With boxes all over the place. Sleeping on non-washed sheets that I pulled from some dusty box. Becca is sleeping on a throw blanket wrapped around her mattress that wasn't put together right (thanks to some movers who no speaky English good). Oh God, I hope it doesn't collapse on her. We have no clue where anything is! But. But! We are here! Finally. In our very own house.

The moving trucks rolled up, looking like the Clampetts moving into the neighborhood. No official-looking moving van. Just some crap thrown on a flat bed truck. We had 14 crates, stuffed full of our crappiest looking crap. With each passing item that went by, we both felt like screaming "JUST TAKE IT ALL TO A DUMPSTER AND BURN IT!" Stuff that I think of as "new" is more like "kinda nasty." I used to LOVE unpacking. This time, all I am doing is opening box after box of junk, wondering why it all looks so bad. Half of our 2-car garage is now filled with stuff I'm selling (either on Craig's list, or in a giant garage sale). The other half of the garage is now covered in paper and boxes.

This was my favorite crate. Not only is this how it looked when it was opened, but they packed up a trashcan from our yard in Alaska with a trash bag full of nasty wet, brown, gooey, totally foul-smelling sludge. I am reasonably sure it contained canine fecal matter.

I have the kitchen stuff all unpacked--what an awesome thing to follow a sentence about fecal matter. That is my key thing. The kitchen, not the fecal matter, of course. I just cannot relax and start to LIVE until I have the kitchen stuff out and ready to go. And, somehow, there is just never enough cabinet space. Ever. Where is one to store a giant roast pan? An ice cream maker? Bread maker? Crock pots? Over sized serving platters? And many giant bowls?

Also, do you KNOW how many boxes of books we have? Do you KNOW how many piles and piles of books I gave away before we even moved? Do you KNOW that these will not all fit on two and a half bookshelves? I am surprised we were under our weight limit for this move. I love books. Here is a wall of boxes that are all BOOKS.
The house is great--I love it. The yard is small and needs some help. We are going to have to do some work--maybe getting it levelled off, and definitely fencing it in. Also, I guess we might should buy a lawn mower--how is THAT for Clampett-speak? Our other one got taken to treasure island in Alaska--some lucky schmuck is probably pulling shrapnel out of his shin as we speak.

After taking inventory and helping unpack a little, John had to go off on his first, real, official trip as Mr. Airline Pilot. We are aware that he is young-looking. People keep coming up to him, including captains he is flying with, and asking if he is 12. But, if you look closely, he has a few gray hairs. That is how I decide if I trust a pilot or not. They must have some grays. I also prefer that they not be drunk. Simple, really.