kiwords

Tonight we had three trick-or-treaters around here. And while some may think some of my kids are too old for that, I don't really care. Because they were awesome.

That's Max, as Ketchup, Raphi as Mustard, and Sophia, as a slightly surly fairy princess. Or as she says it, a "very princess." Which is totally accurate. 

Raphi's costume is a scary one, as far as he's concerned. Mustard is gross. If you ask him, he'll tell you the chilling tale about the time he ate his dad's hamburger on accident and it tasted weird. *shudder*

Doesn't he LOOK scary?

I'm pretty sure it was a successful trick-or-treating trip (I did not take them; that's their dad's job), but the evidence is in the before-and-after shot. So here's before:

And a few hours later:

Ohhhh yeah.

Tre even tagged along - not trick-or-treating, OBVIOUSLY, but just...walking along with the rest of them. Maturely. 

And with just a little interest in the proceedings. (He is not upset here, by the way. This is his expression when you point a camera at him. I'm not sure why. Isn't he adorable?)

So that was our Halloween. I hope yours was as much fun, and the candy is plentiful. Be sure to check under your bed tonight for scary things like mustard.

Well, we made it! I have two working mottos for our family right now: "We're getting there" and "Don't panic, it's here somewhere."

They're not all that moving or inspirational, as mottos go, but they're true.

Max is convinced this house is actually smaller than our previous one. Which...no. I mean, this one has nearly DOUBLE the square footage. But he insists it seems smaller, so I look around and mentally subtract the floor space taken up by boxes, and the family room that is unfinished and filled with boxes and one teen camper, and Tre's room (the camper), which has neither floor nor walls nor heat. And I suppose if you subtract all of that...no. Still no, no way. This house has space and air and light.

Oh, and no curtains. So LOTS of light. The teens around here have never gotten up so early. 

But it's not like there's no window decorations, because the chickens like to hop up on the kitchen windowsills and say hi. As soon as I find my camera, I'll upload a picture. If I can find the cord. Um. Maybe just take my word for it? 

I love chickens on my windowsill. I just do. Clay keeps promising that if they get in the house, they will cease to be pets and become food. I believe he is mostly bluster, but I'm not inviting them inside anyhow.

I am amazed by how exhausting it is, trying to reassemble order in a new place. I run up and down the stairs seventeen trillion times a day, and half the time I get to the other end of the staircase, having forgotten what I was after, but seeing fourteen other things I need to do in front of me. I am sleeping very soundly. 

The other night, in the few seconds between lights out and snoring, Clay reached over and took my hand.

"I'm done," he said. 

"You will have to expand on that. Quickly."

"I don't want to renovate any more houses."

"Oh, THAT. Yes. AMEN." 

When we first moved in, there  was only one working bathroom (we are up to 1.7 working bathrooms. Do not ask me to explain the mathematics of bathrooms. 1.7. Trust me), and it has a shower. Sophia, for the first time ever, had to take showers at night, rather than her usual water-churning bath. The first night she showered, I sat right outside the shower stall, talking her through the experience. She leaped in and out, screeching with delight one minute, demanding I tell her she was okay the next. For eleven bathroom-drenching minutes, she seesawed from joy to fear and back again. By the time she was all done and ready to be gathered up in her froggy towel, she was a warm, damp, exhausted bundle of girl.

That, I decided, is just what moving is like. Exhillerating, scary exhaustion. Plus boxes.

Do y'all notice how I haven't mentioned the new house lately? It's been such a morass of renovation and hassle that I couldn't figure how to write about it without boring myself to sleep and risking a concussion when my head hit the desk. And I'm told that doesn't make for riveting prose. 

Besides, it's been so ridiculous. Do you know we've planned to move in every month since MAY? Seriously. And the setbacks and nonsense - I figured I wouldn't get into it all, because if you've never remodeled a house, you wouldn't believe me, and if you have remodeled a house, you already know how it is.

Ridiculous. That's how it is. 

So after all the past months of thinking we'd be moving soon, and then not moving, you'll understand when I tell you that it took me by surprise. You know, when I realized we're actually moving. Friday.

We're...moving. FRIDAY. Clay just asked me how high on my list of priorities was "heat." Ha! HAHAHAHA! This is going to be JUST FINE! HAHAHAHA!

I'm sitting on the couch, being menaced by a stack of boxes, and from where I sit, I can see 27 solid hours of packing to be done. I'm not even thinking about the downstairs. I don't understand how this can be, when we live in a house of a size that would make Polly Pocket herself look around and sniff, "What, this is it?" But there you have it. Moving is magical. 

So if we survive, I'll catch you on the other side. Look for a whole series of before/after shots, which won't be exciting either, but you'll LOOK at them and LIKE it. 

Prayers, please. *whimper*