Moving on, then.
I have never moved with two children before. Last time we moved Archer was practically an infant which was easy because he just slept in his stroller the entire time while Hal, me and my dad lugged my fifty boxes of books and our bed from our tiny one-bedroom to our current place of residence.
We had nothing then. No couch. No television. No dining room table. No desk. We had a bed, one dresser, an electric piano, a crib in a box and a broken changing table. Over the years, of course, we've managed to accumulate shitloads of crap including furniture et al. Not to mention two older-than-five-month-old-children.
Yes, we hired movers this time but other than that? We're on our own. Which means packing and unpacking just the two of us, with two children trying to climb into the boxes. Because boxes are fun. Except when you're an adult and you have to pack what feels like hundreds of them.
Thousands, more like.
"Moving with kids sucks. Good luck with that," seems to be the stock response when I tell people we're moving May 1st. Which is starting to freak me out. Because I don't like when things suck. I like when things unsuck...