The packing saga...

O how I hate moving.  Is there a word stronger than hate? It's seriously the pits.

And I should know.  I've moved a bajillion times in my life.  Or maybe only 9.  But still, it sucks.

Moving wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for all the PACKING. Tracking down a bajillion boxes (I'm into exaggerating today, aren't I?), then multiplying the number you think you need by ten, because it's never enough and then you end up trying to track down boxes at midnight the night before you're supposed to move. Not that I speak from experience or anything.

It always starts the same.  I begin by being super organized, labeling boxes exactly, filling every box with relevant materials. 

But then the clock starts to tick down to the moving deadline.  And I start to frantically toss random stuff into boxes.  Soap goes in with the picture frames.  DVDs and socks are carelessly tossed into a box. Flip flops somehow inexplicably turn up in the same box as the silverware.

And then things always seem to get packed that you need.  It doesn't matter that I hadn't worn THIS pair of shoes since our last move, I will pack them and all of a sudden I will NEED them.  So then I'm destined to open six boxes (we're past the whole exact labeling thing already) to find that certain pair of shoes, which by the way are in the LAST box on the BOTTOM of the stack of boxes with the shoes in the BOTTOM of said box.  Murphy's law.

And for some reason important things like toilet paper seem to get packed.  Oh yes, I will leave out the video games for Chris until the last minute, but toilet paper is in the box with the baby's clothes.

So if anyone wants to come on over and help us move, feel free!  Just know that I probably won't be done packing and our toilet paper will be in the bottom of a box.