We had a storm here last week. The wind blew, rain came down at an angle, and a tree came down in our front yard. The only casualty was the fence, and that was hit by our neighbor's tree so he's dealing with the insurance.
Friday night, my husband drove to Redmond along with two friends to move our tiller, garden tools, and gas and things the movers won't move, and his two old cars. It took all night. Then he stayed up all day and cut up both of the trees and cleaned up our yard.
I packed, cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and took care of OC. We're both totally exhausted. But guess what?!? There's more to do!
So. Much. More.
I still can't believe I'm moving, even with all the packing.
Friday was OC's birthday party. 18 kids - that's right, 18! - in an acoustically-challenged room where they ran around and screamed for two hours. In between the screaming they slowed down for pizza, presents, cake, and an attempt at organizing them into groups for fun, organized playtime.
I have come to accept that I'm better at one-on-one time with kids that I am with large groups. It's my voice. It isn't loud and doesn't carry and I don't have the presence that some people have that gives kids the sense that they should listen to me. My sister, another mom at the party, and my husband were great, however. They got the kids playing with balls, a parachute, a bean bag toss game, and hula hoops and jump ropes. They had a blast, but it looked like complete chaos to me. I was so grateful for the help, because those kids would've eaten me alive. Kids can smell fear, you know, and 18 kids scared the hell out of me simply by their numbers.
Whatever. OC said it was great and she had a great time, and that's all that matters.
Next week holds all the loose ends we need to tie up before Christmas. The mover kinda wants to know what day he should send the big trucks to pick up our stuff. No pressure.