This week has been a rough one for our family (packing, sleeplessness thinking about packing, arguing about nothing because of the sleeplessness caused by packing, etc...). I am so ready for this whole uprooting our lives business to be done. Can't I just wake up and be enjoying some warm cider and cuddling with my boys in our completely unpacked and beautiful new living room? Oh, if only.
I will be the first to admit I've been a total lunatic this week. I hate moving in a profound way. I hate going through my belongings (I think I'm turning into a bit of a pack rat...not hoarder...there's a big difference...right?). I hate worrying about the logistics. I hate the physicality of moving couches and dining room tables. I just hate it. And... my hate of all things moving makes me a jerk.
I know I haven't been the easiest person to live with this week with all of the stress and frustration seeping out of my pores. I have been a wreck and taken it out in all the worst ways.
And then tonight as I was playing and laughing with Ezra I realized something.
Who cares about moving? These boys are my home.