Today is one week since we arrived home, bleary-eyed, from vacation, and one year since we moved, shaky-legged, into this house. On my list of favorite things to do, not moving ranks very high.
A year ago tomorrow was one of the most unremittently miserable days of my life. Everything was misplaced in the wrong box, everybody was cranky, and DOB was passed out cold from consuming too many soy-containing snack foods during the move. We were, nonetheless, deeply grateful for the folks from a nearby church who had come over after their VBS program had ended to finish moving in all our furniture.
This year, we're gearing up to do the opening for VBS there ourselves. (It's just hard to say no to a church like that.) We still have a lot of boxes that need to find a better home, but I've just come up with a new scheme for reorganizing them and I might even have the energy to make it happen. For the first time ever, I've kept up on the housework every single day this week.
It's been nice to get a little taste of what normal feels like. For however long it lasts.