We’ve spent the last two weeks moving. Why are we moving, you ask? Well! It’s a funny story. See..
No, wait. Funny means something else entirely. My bad.
The short version is that we found a really kick-ass rental in exactly the location we wanted just as our lease on the old place was expiring, so even though we hadn’t been planning to move, we jumped on it. But, hee, funny thing about having a baby: everything takes three times as long. Which means moving takes three times as long. And is exponentially harder, which I’m sure no one imagined because, hey, babies are easy, right?
Our old house is finally almost empty and ready to be surrendered to the landlords, and the new place is a Jenga tower of boxes. Boxes and ants, because it would seem that ants follow us wherever we go. I am an ant magnet. Should you desire ants in your house, invite me over! I am the ant whisperer. Et cetera.
I’m upset about the ants, because the place is brand freaking new and there is no reason I should have to deal with insects. We don’t leave stuff out. We haven’t had a chance to leave stuff out. The first day we were here I accidentally left a tiny spot of glaze from a donut on the upstairs window sill. An hour later it was teeming with ants. Seriously, tiny spot. The hell? And they were coming up through the crack between the window pane and the frame, which says to me that the damned house wasn’t sealed right. There are a crazy number of spiders, too. (I have a bug phobia, have I mentioned?)
Other than that, and the fact that the downstairs heater doesn’t work, and the lack of mailboxes (!!), the new place is great. Fabulous location, great layout, lots of storage…almost totally worth the massive panic-inducing hassle that was the move.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go obsessively clean my kitchen. Again.