I have no time, so y'all get another fascinating conversation between me and slatergirl!

carlyslater: happy moving day
wait
tomorrow
happy moving tomorrow


Sharolyn: THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!
:)
sooooooo happy
and less stressed than i was yesterday


carlyslater: yay!
are you high?


Sharolyn: not yet! but good idea!


carlyslater: ahahaha
just checking
totally valid option


Sharolyn: no, just realized last night that i've hired movers, and what the fuck am i stressing about? anything that doesn't get moved will get moved later. big deal.


carlyslater: Wise Woman


Sharolyn: everything we NEED is packed, except the last minute shit. but that's organized and will only take half an hour.


carlyslater: you've gotten very good at this


Sharolyn: i've been planning this for 3.5 years.


carlyslater: ahahahahahaahahahaha


Sharolyn: really, if anything goes wrong, i shouldn't be allowed to live.


carlyslater: does this mean i can bug you with totally inane online products that i want to order for my dance event?


Sharolyn: i can give you 7 minutes. :)


carlyslater: the specificity of that is kinda hot. just so you know


Sharolyn: because 10 is too much but 5 seems cheap. :)


carlyslater: see? hot and now i feel like i'm getting value




See y'all on the other side! Wheeeee! *flies straight into the arms of Vancouver at a million miles per hour*

Five days to Moving Day. Roughly 85% of my kitchen, and probably 50% of our ground floor has been moved to the new house.

I have a plan in place for the next five days, and if it goes well, Wednesday will be efficient, cost-effective, and organized.

I have not yet reached the point where I just randomly start throwing shit in boxes, but we all know it's coming.

slatergirl is getting sick. I suggested she try oil of oregano.


carlyslater: you there?


Sharolyn: i is.


carlyslater: oh good
because i feel the need to yell at you, since this oregano oil is like a HOLOCAUST IN MY MOUTH


Sharolyn: hahahahahahhaaaa
apple juice chaser
wait. are you allowed to crack holocaust jokes? you are part jewish! and gypsy!


carlyslater:
the gypsy part IS the jewish part, in fact


Sharolyn: i did not know this


carlyslater: i come from Saphhardic jews which were the exiled jews from turkey who became the spanish gypsies


Sharolyn: traitor! traitor to your people!


carlyslater: spelling uncertain


Sharolyn: sp[elling is fer pussys


carlyslater: rofl

I really hate to come off all Pollyanna and shit, but I think all the tendrils of this incredibly intimidating and daunting move may, in fact, be coming together.

I seem to be accomplishing this by turning into the Moving Day version of Bridezilla. The amount of detail in my calendar in the days approaching this move is truly, truly ridiculous.

After this is done, I'd like some nice, bossy person to sit me down in a comfy chair, fetch me a glass of wine, and then proceed to tell me what to think, do, eat and wear for a few days. Because making such decisions on my own is clearly going to be too much for me.

Basically what I really need in life is someone standing over me with a big stick threatening to hit me if I don't go to bed on time.

I don't have the time or energy to be witty or funny about this. I just want to record that my son is honest to god 2.5 now, and boy howdy is he being kind of an asshole.

It is not helping that he mixes up the asshole behaviour with heart-meltingly sweet kisses and I love you's and hugs. And I fall for it every time.

Parenthood is basically just a socially acceptable version of Stockholm Syndrome.

Plan for this week:

- Work (lots)
- Drive Mom into Van for doctor's appointments (twice)
- Pack stuff from Mission house (lots)
- Unload stuff in Vancouver house (lots)
- Be awesome parent
- Be awesome wife
- Plan, budget and execute husband's week-long trip to Ottawa/Toronto
- Exercise (ha!)
- Appointment at bank about That Thing
- Single parent two tiny, energetic children from Wednesday morning on
- Do that Other Thing at the bank
- Provide children with healthy meals (already planned out, mostly)
- Tell Nanny at least once that she is a Life Saver, not the candy kind, but the Bad Ass Thank God You Exist kind
- Meet with That Guy about That Thing
- Get enough sleep (HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!!!)
- Maintain sanity.

(Deep breath.)

Easy-peasy. Next: cure cancer and solve world hunger. Now hand me that glass of wine.

I know I complain a lot, but today I half-dozed with Isabeau in my arms, cuddled in so close as if our bodies were still one and the same, and it was simply perfection.

Watching their days pass is equal parts joy and heart shattering. I don't know how anyone ever gets used to this.

Those of you who've been reading for a while will likely remember my friend D -- the gorgeous, hilarious and wonderfully evil woman I've been raising hell with for 12-ish years now. She and I have traveled together, explored Vancouver together, and had a million adventures, only some of which I'll be able to tell my grandchildren about. We have talked our way into places we don't belong more than once, and inevitably walk away with a story worth telling.

She has been in a similar situation as I have been for the past few years -- she's a new mom of two, perpetually exhausted, and probably missing our troublemaking youth as much as I am.

After many attempts, we finally managed to go out last night, just the two of us. These outings have been tame for the past few years, because... well, we're tired. Very, very tired.

Last night was shaping up to be the same. We'd grabbed a bottle of wine and were heading to my family's boat in Coal Harbour for a quiet night of wine and girl talk. As we walked on to the dock, a strange sight met our eyes: a VERY posh looking party, complete with musicians, wine and oysters, and party guests wearing very expensive looking clothes. Questioning one of the musicians, we discovered it was a sales party to launch a new boat.

Well, what would YOU have done?

Right. We bluffed our way in, guzzled wine at the free bar, toured the boat while attempting to give the impression we could totally afford to buy a huge, expensive yacht, and then ran away before anyone clued in.

It felt awkward at first. Where once we would have haughtily walked in like we owned the place, we were now more timid. The bluffing, which would normally be second nature, took a few attempts to sound smooth. The whole time we were there we were carefully watching for signs that someone realized we didn't belong.

But you know... it really *IS* like riding a bike. You don't forget.

Oh, Vancouver... you and I have some fun times ahead of us.

Tonight, while I sang Isabeau her usual bedtime song of "This Old Man," she threw me the horns.

I am so goddamn proud.