“Can you believe how much I vacuumed today?”
— Hockey God

People, I am telling you. If you want to feel better and stop sobbing your eyes out, either decide to sell your house or at least pretend you’re going to sell your house. It is like Mary flippin’ Poppins around here, in the nursery scene where lickety-split everything gets picked up in ten seconds flat and Michael almost gets smashed flat in the closet door.

We’ve packed away toys, books, videos and clothes. We’ve given away so much stuff that my friend C growled at me the other day, “No. More. TOYS!” a la Joan Crawford “No. Wire. Hangers. EVER!” Then she (to retaliate) brought me a huge bag of hand-me-downs from her son to mine. And then I, in turn, gave her my broken breadmaker (which miraculously works at their house but not ours. Whatever, breadmaker. This is the respect I get? After all the yeast I’ve provided for you?).

Goodwill? Four boxes and four more to drop off this week.

Breast pumps and baby gear? Off to a friend in need.

Family photos, my dad’s old rocking chair (from when he was a wee tot) and his high chair (ditto)? To my sister and mom.

Doghouse? Don’t make me cry. It went to C’s crazeee-kooky shaggy black dog, who reminds me a lot of Wacky Dog.

“Nice, with the moldy sleeping bag inside,” her husband D told me.

“It’s only been in there a few months!” I told him.

Then I packed up half the china cabinet. Recycled half (or more) of our paperwork. Hockey God decided which half of his albums he’s keeping (K-Tel, Grateful Dead and Rush, yes; Pablo Cruise or whoever it was, no.) Our attic is stuffed full; our rugs are vacuumed. Our dishes and laundry are done; we still haven’t found jobs.

But we will.

And then, Iowa City, Iowa, our family, Coralville Lake Reservoir and our friends at The Mill, here we come.

(PS — I believe this makes it five posts in one day. A new record.)