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‘You’re the one that I want…’ the old man sang to me when I got up this morning. A sincere effort, I believe, to calm the storms that have inevitably begun to build up as we get ready to move. He’s been in a suspiciously good mood all week which he has tried to disguise as excitement even though we all know that its root lies in the anticipation of hiding away in his new study for the next few years. 

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Ending years of deprivation for The Princess

 

Moving house is one of the three most stressful things in life, apparently. It’s up there with divorce and death… and dieting, I imagine. And even though we’re old hands at this lark – some might say ‘professionals – it’s never easy with ‘a man who can’t’ when it comes to DIY, (who thinks he can), a procrastinator of a young adult who believes she can pack her entire room including fantasy library, rock collection and seventy-five nail varnishes in minutes and a son with anxiety who packed the minute we signed the lease, meaning he has had nothing to do but worry and irritate the fuck out of me for the past four days.

 

It’s The Princess I worry about. Anyone who owns a dog knows how they react when you bring the suitcases out to go on holiday, but boxes are a whole different sphere of worry and she keeps throwing me those looks out of the corners of her eyes that beg two questions ‘am I coming with you?’ and ‘how can you do this to me again?’ Obviously she doesn’t realize that ‘grass’ comes with this new home and she won’t have to embarrass us any more at the local parks by behaving like some loony dog, who’s been deprived of grass and sunlight for years.

 

In spite of so much ‘packing’ experience behind me, I’ve made some rookie errors this week by being over-zealous and prematurely boxing stuff the kids apparently need to survive. I’m not talking about the First Aid kit or anything like that but I did pack the maple syrup – shame on me – and I must have packed the cheese grater which I really needed for dinner last night. I improvised with nail scissors – something Generation Y seems incapable of doing.

 

As Kurt mentioned somewhat sarcastically last night, yes it is quite interesting that I haven’t packed the wine or wine glasses yet as I project manage this move and try to keep frayed tempers at bay, diffuse anxiety about spiders and WIFI in the new place and create new rules about noise. Sometime last night I might have agreed to Kurt having a gathering in his new, semi-contained space in an effort to show that the move will be beneficial to everyone in the family and give us all a bit more space and separation.

 

Perhaps I should have packed the wine.

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