Don't Hassle Me. I'm Packing.

 Hey y'all -

In the movie "What About Bob?" Bill Murray plays a fun, mentally-askew patient who follows his psychiatrist on vacation and gets himself a shirt that reads, "Don't Hassle Me. I'm Local."

I want one that reads, "Don't Hassle Me. I'm Moving." In fact, this morning, our whole family was riding into town together, and I asked your dad what was on his agenda for the day. "Well," he started, "I have a meeting with the Department of Environmental Quality, then..." "THOR!" I shrieked, "You're wearing a shirt that advertises BEER." "Leave me alone," he said, "I'm moving."

Exactly.

We got a call that our buyers want to close a week early, meaning that we have seven fewer days to pack and move than we'd thought. I spent some time running in a circle in the living room, flapping my hands and squawking - but isn't that how everyone deals with extreme stress?

We're making good progress, so it's not quite the Code Red that I'm making it out to be, although we do seem to get derailed sometimes when - say - you and your dad discover there's a game to be made out of blowing on each other's faces:

 You guys have been helping us pack, deciding which are your most important possessions that should be handled with care. For Laney, it's these six horses ("but Hagen can have that cow.") For Hagen it's the lid to a sippy cup and a Tonka truck.

We got to visit the new house for a few minutes yesterday to do some measuring. Laney laid claim to her closet, while Hagen enjoyed roaming wild.

But this sums up how we all feel by 6pm every day:

Love,

Mom