The Final Countdown

It's coming up fast now. 10 days until we take possession of the new place. 10 days to pack.








Whew, I think I just hyperventilated a little bit there.

Mostly I am feeling strangely unstressed about it all, actually. Sure, I'm laying awake until the wee hours every night, remembering all the THINGS I NEED TO REMEMBER TO DO, ON PAIN OF DEATH (lawyers, realtors, documents, handing over vast sums of money boo hoo, blah blah blah), but honestly? I am handling it all very well. No hives, even!

Today I packed up the kids and we drove downtown to drop off some paperwork. I found a great parking spot, had juuuuust enough change to plug the meter, we found the correct address semi-quickly (why don't all those buildings have their addresses more prominently displayed? We had to walk halfway down the wrong street before I could find a building number anywhere), everyone kept their pants dry--even me! ha, couldn't resist a cheap shot, even at myself--and once in the correct office we were served quickly and pleasantly.

The kids were relatively awesome about it all, and I only had to get a little ominous while enforcing the handholding-while-crossing-street rule, so to demonstrate my resultant joie de vivre I took the kids to the museum where we stayed for HOURS. At least two of those hours were spent repeatedly shuttling J and his tiny, tiny bladder to the bathroom, where I had to inform my dismayed Big Boys that they had to come in the ladies' room with me. Who knew a 7 year old could do bershon so well?

After the museum kicked us out we swam upstream through stat-holiday-eve (Happy Birfday, Canada!) rush hour traffic, and got home just as the clock struck Dinnertime. I managed to pull together a meal in 15 minutes, because I rock. Or maybe because I took the easy way out and heated something up. I'll never tell.

Once we'd filled our faces, I took G out on a date, as reward/reinforcement for his suddenly agreeing with his parents, grandparents, and pretty much everyone else in the world that consistently using the toilet, no nagging or hovering necessary, is a good idea. And oh man, it is SUCH a good idea. I only wish he'd agreed with me about 2.5 years ago when we started the toileting process. But who's counting? To celebrate achieving what was beginning to look unachievable, we took ourselves to yonder cinema, donned the geeky glasses and watched "Up" in 3D. It was a great show. Except for that bit where they made me cry.

I do enjoy Pixar's films. But why oh why do they suckerpunch me every time? You'd think I'd have learned by now, it's not like they stray from the formula. They give you five minutes of happy and cute, sweetness and light, and then BAM someone is dead. Remember "Finding Nemo?" I still can't watch the first bit where--spoiler alert!--Mom and a hundred or so of Nemo's siblings get munched up. I'm going to start arriving 10 minutes late, so the downer bit is out of the way before I begin watching. I'm pretty sure I can pick up the storyline, no problem. Or maybe I'll bring the laptop and watch something uplifting until the weepy part has passed. Nobody would mind, right? It wouldn't be hard to concentrate on a feature film with, say, this playing quietly in the theatre, am I right?

God, that video makes me happy. If the next 10 days--10 days!!-- start to bring me down, I will put it on continuous loop.