We're finally moving out of our tiny apartment this weekend!
I'm ridiculously excited about moving into an actual house, but my procrastination has come out in full force this week.
How much have I packed, you ask? Oh, 6 boxes or so. Pretty much just the contents of a bookshelf, the things from Owen's changing table, the picture frames from the walls and our toiletry stockpile. That just leaves... oh... pretty much everything.
Owen has been 'helping' me pack today. (By 'helping' I mean 'growling at me from the play pen.') He accompanied me to Wal-Mart this morning to buy a new litter box with a cover (since I'm positive that if we didn't get one with a cover that my child would try to eat cat poop).
We wandered around the store for a while (again, more procrastination) and came out of there with a storage bench for his toys, a walker, a toy hammer and three movies from the $5 bin.
What's missing from that list? The flipping litter box. I'm such a dunce. I figure I'll wind up making a million trips to the store tomorrow during the actual moving, though, so I can just pick one up then.
Also, we apparently hit Wal-Mart right at the peak 'old lady time,' because I can't tell you how many old women stopped us to talk to Owen and tell me how 'pretty' he is. Did I mind? Not even a little.
I'm a fan of anyone who tells me my kid is cute. I think we'll be going to Wal-Mart at 8am more often. ;-)
When we got home, Owen was pooped and pretty much immediately fell asleep. This gave me more time to pack.
I thought, "I'll just watch this weeks Survivor online while I pack the living room."
Well, that turned into me sitting on the couch, totally engrossed in Survivor (which is off to an awesome start this season, by the way). I seriously need a procrastination intervention.
Ok, I should actually go pack some more. Maybe.
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