So, we’re moved in, but we’re still not unpacked. Like, at all. Okay, that’s not true. The other night, i worked til 10:30 at night finding plates and glasses and putting them in cupboards, while Perfect Husband sweated it out upstairs trying to get two computer desks to fit against one wall in our new study (aka second bedroom) because otherwise WHERE WOULD WE PUT THE BOOK SHELVES. If necessary, we might have had to dump the bed and sleep in a heap by the door because beds we can live without but BOOKS are IMPORTANT.
Luckily that was not necessary, although there is still a pile of bags in the kitchen containing such mundane things as cutlery and cooking utensils, because we discovered that while cupboard space in our new kitchen is ample, drawer spaces is not. These are not real drawers. They are like a litter of baby drawers, huddled under the counter and waiting for their mama who went out foraging for steak knives and never returned home. They can’t handle the adult needs of my bamboo flat-ware sorter, or my extra wide spatula. For now, our everyday flatware is lying in a sad pile on the contact paper in one of the muppet baby drawers, and everything else is in bags. What should we do, designate a cutlery cupboard?
It’s all very vexing.
On top of that, the place is filled with boxes, electrical outlets with their covers still removed from the painting spree, garbage bags with labels that say things like “Stuffies and soccer clothes” or “Papers n Junk” that don’t fit neatly into any categoryand therefore get left last for unpacking.
Mornings contain conversations like “Do you think this tie is too wrinkled for work?” and “have you seen a clean pair of underwear? No, MY underwear.”
Breakfasts involve leftover Kraft dinner from three days before we moved, and double cheeseburgers fridged from the night before, because we still can’t cook because WHERE WOULD THE UTENSILS GO? Our fridge contains beer (which neither of us drink, but was used as a bribe to get people to help us move, the suckers), diet Pepsi (without which I cannot live), and condiments.
Meanwhile work has been insane lately. Shockingly enough, home is not restful right now, because it’s room after room of “you have far too much to do to consider resting.”
Thank heavens it’s the long weekend – now I can spend the next three days trying to sort linens dumped out of garbage bags into some sort of system that is more complex than “in that pile, there.”