A few weeks ago, after I'd finished packing up the china cabinet and my husband had packed (most of) the man cave, he looked me in the eye and said, "I think we're almost done. This move isn't going to be hard at all."
And he wasn't joking.
Not to be goaded into a false sense of calm, I answered, "We aren't close, and this is going to be hard."
Guess. Go on, guess who was right. You know the answer. Since I'm the one writing this blog, and the title has the word "panic" in it, you know I'm the one who was right. I would guess we're still only 25% done with the packing, and we still have to say good-bye to all the people here, finish getting all documents ready for closing on our new house, pack the other 75%, scrub down the house from top to bottom, go to every doctor (it seems), enroll the kids in the new school, sell two vehicles, sell a bunch of furniture on Craigslist (I just posted it all yesterday), finish both courses, help the hubby recover from oral surgery this coming Thursday... should I keep going? Really?
So here it is: Panic, panic, PANIC, panic, panic, more panic, PANIC, PANIC, PANIC, panic, PANIC!!!!
And that's it. I'm done. All done panicking. It's a waste of time anyway, panicking is, and it will only get me a heart attack. Besides, it makes breathing difficult and gives me a headache.
Now it's time to get to work. I have a library, playroom, and kitchen to pack, along with other ducks to put in a row. Talk to you later!