I am a bad blogger. It's been...well, it's been many days since my last post. Hey folks, I'm busy packing! I'm busy working! I'm busy trying to keep some order in the chaos that has become our life. Except for Girl...who is bored.
But that's another story.
One week from today we receive keys.
From that point on it will be a mad dash to complete things over there and get things wrapped up over here.
Many folks have been asking how FIL is taking the big move, to which I reply he seems to be taking it in stride. I don't bother them with the detail that I don't think he realizes how different things will be for him. No one will be here to bring him fresh baked cookies. There will be no one to walk the fence line for him. No one to chase his cutie little (if you call 250 lbs, little) black calf back into the pasture.
Who will let him in when he forgets his keys?
Who will listen to him rant and rave about his doctor, insurance company, phone company, idiot drivers, idiot neighbors, idiot family members, golf game, computer game, and the best buys of the week at the grocery store?
No one will be here to listen to him "golf" as he practices his pitching in the living room.
No one will hear him when he has a leg cramp at 2:30 am and he's pacing up and down the hall for half an hour.
And as our departure date draws near, I feel...I feel a little sad for that great big pain in my neck. But it's okay, just about the time I start feeling really bad, he reminds me why moving will rock!
He parks in front of my car, blocking my path out. Now don't think I'm being snarky here. I am not. There is plenty of parking on this farm, but sometimes he chooses to park in such a way as to make it nearly impossible to get in or out. He's just funny that way.
He decides to do laundry the minute I start my laundry. See, we've had this little understanding that he does laundry on Wednesday or sometimes Thursday. I keep my stuff out of the way, so that he has clear and easy access. Lately, he's been doing laundry on Tuesday or Friday or, like yesterday, Saturday. You can hear the washer upstairs if you are in the bathroom or the hallway, so it's not as if he doesn't KNOW. Then he'll come bumbling down the stairs asking me to move my things so that he can get his laundry finished.
He'll complain about being broke. Now, this is really none of my business. It's not. But I use to manage his money after MIL received her get out of jail free card - wow that was tasteless. She passed on. She kicked the bucket. She met her maker. She fled and never looked back. YOU GO GIRL!
I know where his money is and how much he has. For him to say that he is broke, well, it's not exactly true. When you are broke, you don't play golf four days a week. When you have no funds, you do not go out to coffee every day with your friends. When you are broke, often times you don't have food or gas. You see my point?
One last thing that I will not miss about living here is the thanklessness. He is never thankful. He never, ever says please and he'll only say thank you if you remind him. And I know his mother taught him better than that! It's a shame, it really is. Over the years I've learned to simply accept it. After all, we do not do the right things because someone if going to be grateful. We do them because they are the right thing to do!.
There will be no more something or for nothing.
No more "favors"
No more "orders"
No more being treated like a twelve-year-old.
Please don't think me cruel hearted. I'll still come around to clean his house. It's a gift I give him. Not because I'm just all that, but because if I don't, he'll be swimming in his own filth before the end of the month and if he lives to be ninety (which he totally could) I would need a shovel just to get in the front door.
We'll bring him home baked goodies and have him over for dinner. The phone still works...until he jerks it out of the wall and we are only twenty minutes away. It's not like we've moved two hours away or out of state. We're still here.
We're just moving into our HOUSE.
And no one will ever, ever, ever, walk on my head again!
And don't feel too sorry for FIL. He's already plotting about what he's going to do when we leave. For one thing he's taking over the downstairs. He's moving his freezer. He's putting up a new rail. He's setting up his pool table.
And doing laundry any ol' time he wants to.
He's started getting this crazy look in his eyes that says, "Don't let the door hit you on your way out!"
Which is a good thing!