I don't know why we rehired the terrible movers we used last ti--oh, wait; yes I do: they were cheap as all get out. You get what you pay for, though, and what we paid for, then, I suppose, were deodorant-eschewing movers who lovingly wrapping PLASTIC CHILDREN'S IKEA BOWLS in numerous layers of bubble wrap, but tossed light bulbs in with jugs of anvil-sized dish soap. Yayyyy! Glass glitter for all! Also, they excitedly brought this to me, as though it were the Hope Diamond.
Thank you, movers, for finding -- somewhere -- my wizard mood ring from 1993! Now, at long last, I know how to feel again. And what color those feelings are.
One of the feelings I had during the move was the feeling of wanting to cry, upon seeing how the movers opted to label our shorts. Mood Ring Feeling: BLACK
SUMMER FAT SHORTS, YOU GUYS. I CAN'T EVEN.
Those feelings of boundless tears soon turned to laughter, as I saw how they labeled some of our menorahs and whatnot:
At this point, we are pretty much done unpacking -- although coated in a fine layer of dust -- but instead of completing the unpacking, or banishing the dust from the premises, I have been doing very important things, like this.
It's honestly been a bit crazy this past week trying to get it all unpacked/clean/organized, work full-time, and still, you know, see our children, but it's been worth it, especially when we get to hang out with the kids in the backyard, or as they call it, ""our playground."
Definitely worth it.