Me, neurotic? Whaaa?

The home stretch. The final countdown. (Duh nuh nuh nuh....) It's our last few days here in this apartment, and while I'm beyond excited to move on to the next chapter in our lives, I'd be lying if I said I weren't just a little bit freaked out.

This is the first time in a long time that I've moved out of my comfort zone. I mean, anyone else recall those tumultuous months of late 2006 and early 2007? Oye. And this time around, I can't even have a drink to calm my nerves. Though looking back, my nerves should have been waaaaaaaaay relaxed given the amounts I was imbibing and it still turned into a freaking nightmare. Oh Dubuque, how I don't miss you.

But anyway. Back to the topic at hand. And at foot. And eye level. We're moving. And I've been packing like a crazy woman. There are boxes EVERYWHERE. Not even joking. If there was free space, it is now filled with boxes. I am an expert in Uhaul packing supplies. Honorary employee, even. Nick had the nerve to be moderately upset because I'm buying boxes. I quickly quelled those concerns by telling him that buying boxes is cheaper than getting rid of bed bugs or fleas or whatever else I happen to bring home because I'm relying on the kindness and cleanliness of strangers to provide us with quality moving supplies. Plus, I'm a little OCD about many things, and boxes that match and stack ever-so-neatly are good for my nerves. It's like real-life Tetris.

The last few days before a move are stressful, I think. I'm to the point where things are going in boxes haphazardly and even though I'm the one doing the packing, it stresses me out. But I do it because I just want it done. So when we're in the new house and I'm desperately searching for dish soap, remind me that it's in the box with the baby wipes, Wii remotes, bathroom wash clothes and oatmeal bath soak. Because that just makes sense, damn it.

One of those days.

Rainy, dreary, lonely. One of those days when adult interaction would be nice but adults are a scarce commodity in my life. Just gonna have to suck it up, for the kids if nothing else, and move on. 

Blah. 

Just keep swimming... just keep swimming...

I need to preface this post with the following statement: I trust my husband's judgement.

Most of the time.

This move requires that he be the one to view potential homes, talk to the homeowners or landlords, and make decisions that impact our entire family. It's a big responsibility.

I write this as he stands on a riverfront property in a craphole town in Illinois, which according to Wikipedia, gets most of its business traffic thanks to its booming adult entertainment business.

What the hell?!

Just when I thought I was out...

Seriously. Just when I thought things were getting figured out. Just when I thought three kids was manageable. Just when I thought I had school under control and getting a job might be on the horizon. Just when I thought that we'd made real progress in the money department.

BOOM.

Just when I thought I was getting it all figured out. Then you get the boom. The big "your-husband-gets-laid-off-and-goes-and-buys-a-camper-so-we-can-take-a-Black-Hills-vacation-only-to-come-home-and-find-out-he's-been-transferred-to-a-job-three-hours-away-and-has-to-live-in-the-new-camper-until-we-can-find-a-place-to-live" boom.

It was a big one. Top that off with being pregnant with Baby 4.0 (SURPRISE!), both the older boys starting school, and being two classes away from finally finishing my Master's - this summer has been absolutely freaking crazy. And it's not slowing down. Maybe that's just how life is going to be from now on; maybe freaking crazy is our normal. I'm just having trouble keeping up. Hopefully it's just a side effect of being pregnant; if it is, it's the only one I'm having so far. (Not complaining there.)

This last weekend the boys and I drove down to see Nick at the campsite he's staying in. He showed the boys the enormous job site he's on. We drove around and saw the area. And discovered that there is a serious lack of housing available down there. I guess when you have 2,500 construction workers from all over the country converging on one job site in southeast Iowa, you have to expect that housing will be hard to come by. Buying a house isn't really an option; we're not sure how long we're going to be in the area or even what part of the area we want to be in. There aren't many apartments to be found. And frankly, what was available seemed to be operated by slumlords. Yuck. So we'll continue to look. But if Nick had his way, we'd be moving at the end of the month.

Which means a lot of work for me.

Zach's birthday party is this week; his fourth birthday is Saturday. Brodie starts kindergarten on the 14th. Zach starts preschool on the 25th. I have classes starting on the 25th. Add in OB appointments, well-child check-ups, dentist appointments, school orientations - like I said, absolutely freaking crazy. But I'll survive.

(I will survive, won't I?)

Blah, blah, blah.

It's Fat Tuesday; I feel as though my shape (or lack of) is acceptable today.

Tired. Kids aren't sleeping past 5 a.m. and it's killing me. All the "experts" say to put them to bed earlier and they'll sleep later. I say PSHAW! Short of taping them to their beds, I don't see how to fix this problem.

Two-thirds of my children are teething. One is losing teeth and another is attempting to grow them. They are both whiny and cantankerous today. Brodie is following me around, asking me to wiggle his tooth. To be honest, it kind of grosses me out - his tooth is very wiggly and I think if he pushed on it hard enough with his tongue, he could probably pop it out. I kind of hope Nick is home when this happens, I'm not that good with blood.

Tate is nine months old. I have yet to take his eight-month pictures. I should probably do that today. I should have done it a few weeks ago, but whatever.

I need some coffee. This mindless babble is putting me to sleep.

Does school lunch still suck? Also, I'm getting old.

Sunday. As of late, we've been attending church on Sundays. I really liked it, too. Laid back, casual, entertaining, and the kids loved the nursery, too. We could choose our level of interaction - we could be as involved or uninvolved as we wanted to be, no questions asked. And then a few weeks ago, there was no sermon, just a report on the state of the church. And they started asking for money. Not in any subtle form, just a flat out request for about $800 from each family over the course of the year - not including our normal tithing. Ummm.... really? This was my first true involvement with a church since I was a kid, and back then I didn't pay attention to anything that was said, so I don't know if this is standard operating procedure. But it hit us the wrong way. And we haven't been back since. I don't feel good about this decision; church is good for all of us. And we were really enjoying it. But something about that whole thing just felt odd. And still feels odd. And so here we are, Sunday morning, no showers and still in our pajamas.

I register Zachary for preschool tomorrow evening. It's an online registration and it opens at 6pm sharp. Last year, I was late in getting Brodie's information turned in. Same kind of thing, opened at 6pm, and I forgot until bedtime. We ended up getting waitlisted (number 75 on the wait list, actually) and it was by the grace of God that we got a phone call a week before the school year started, asking if we wanted to enroll him in the public program. We were all ready to enroll him in the private Christian preschool here in town (for a hefty monthly sum, let me tell you) so it really was a blessing to get a phone call. But this time around, I am determined to make the enrollment list. De-ter-mined, I tell you.

It's kind of mind-boggling that Zachary is registering for preschool already. That means Brodie will be in kindergarten, and that apparently can't come soon enough. Once he found out that while in preschool he still has to eat lunch at home, he's been begging to be in a "grade" and go to "real school." Just wait until he eats school food; he'll be begging to come home. Or maybe school food has gotten better and they don't serve mystery meat and soggy vegetables anymore. It ought to be some damn fine cuisine for the price; school lunch is crazy expensive. Back in my day, school lunch cost a nickel but we had to go out and get the milk straight from the cow. Of course, that counted as participation in FFA, so it really was a win-win. Plus, the boys loved a girl that knew her way around the farm so all the really good milk maids were betrothed by the age of 15. The joys of going to school in Hickville. (Except for the nickel thing, all of that is based in some sort of reality. Sad.)

Back in my day... whatever. I'm getting old. That's depressing and I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to go take my Centrum and my Metamucil and count my grey hairs. Maybe the 700 Club is on.

Peas and bananas... gross.

Two days in a row. Get up off the floor, fool!

Eating lunch with Tate at the moment. Well, he's eating. I'm not. He's scarfing down peas and bananas like it's nobody's business. Gross is an understatement. Watching Tate eat is actually a good appetite suppressant. I ought to market him as a diet tool. Even though most of it ends up in his lap he does get an "A" for effort. I will have to dock points for peas in his nose, though. That's just not cool.

It's the end of another term. (Yup, still in college.) I have a week off from classes and already, I'm bored. Nothing to stress me out, nothing to (not) read, nothing to procrastinate. I can't be made happy. I submitted my financial aid paperwork last week for next term and I think I may have emptied the financial aid bucket. If I read the information right, I will have reached the end of the government's generosity with regard to student loans. I never knew there was such a thing, honestly. But it makes sense. So my plan to never graduate, therefore never having to pay back my student loans, has been foiled. I guess I'm going to have to follow through on that moving to Fiji thing.

Bummer.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

So tired... Can't keep my eyes open... Coffee... Must have coffee...

Don't know what's up; Tate was awake for HOURS last night. Seriously, hours. He's never been like that before. He's either realized that all the good TV comes on after he goes to bed or he had a bit of a tummy ache. Considering we were watching Mission Impossible III, which hardly fits the definition of good TV, he must have had a tummy ache. Poor kid. But, like a good mommy (or at least a resourceful one), I headed out to Walgreens at midnight to get the stuff to fix him. An hour and $30 later, it didn't work. So I really don't know what the issue was. He's still a little off this morning. As am I. If he keeps it up we'll have to go to the doctor. Or sell him. Whatever.

Today is pajama day at preschool. I have to try to convince Brodie that pajama day means wearing clean pajamas to school; he's under the impression that he shouldn't have to change out of the pajamas he's wearing. Patience, grasshopper. That privilege is extended once you enroll in college.

That's all I've got this morning. I'm going to go chew on some coffee grounds or eat some sugar straight from the bag.