The song I’ve had on my head the last three weeks is the tune from Weeds, “Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes, little teenie tiny little boxes and they all just look the same”. While my husband is working his ass off at work I work my ass off at home around the clock to pack ourselves out from our home and into a new one. The problem being that we cannot move in until august so we are packing two separate piles: one we need the next month and a half and one we don’t. Adding the challenge of a baby that has decided that sleeping during the day is overrated, that foodtime is to take extra long and that during awake time mummy should have all attention on baby or else there is decibels not heard by human ear before. Add on some work of my own, and trying to have a social life every now and then and you have a mum very close to snapping in half.
But somehow I’ve managed to pack a hell of a lot of boxes, and shelves are looking emptier, clothes racks gape empty and with some help from my friends today I got even more done. On saturday we’re moving to the island and by then the whole apartment needs to be packed into little boxes.