Okay, now this is beginning to remind me a lot of pregnancy. In fact, you've heard those bizarre stories of women not knowing their pregnant until they're seven or eight months along? Hm. Well, I sorta feel like that. LeRoy is offered the job ("You're going to have a baby! In about 10 weeks!"). The preparations begin: moving stuff out of the house, passport applications, a new coat of paint in the living room... Then as D-Day (in this case, "Departure Date") gets closer the Braxton Hix contractions begin.
"The movers are coming on the 18th." (Write that on the calendar.) "No, never mind. They're coming on the 24th." (Draw a line through the previous date. Enter new date.)
"Oh, the 24th is for 'Short-term storage.' The following three days after that are for 'Household Goods.'"
"The following Friday after that is for 'Long-term storage.'" Right. Got it. More small contractions. Things are definitely gearing up.
House is empty. Suitcases are packed. Then unpacked. (Contraction here.) Seven days. Seven loads of laundry. Repacked. (Another contraction.) Final goodbyes.
(Okay. That last contraction didn't feel like a Braxton Hix! That felt like the real thing! In fact, our bags were by the front door and we were ready to jump in the car!) But then, the passports didn't arrive.
So we're still waiting. The last four days have been a blessing in that we got in several more goodbyes. Now we're experiencing a few more "contractions" as we anticipate the arrival of our passports today or tomorrow. D-Day of a dream come true is rescheduled for 6:45 AM on Wednesday.
I'll keep you posted.