they're coming this morning.
movers bearing seven thousand pounds of unnecessary gifts that remind me of a time for which i ache but also want to forget. i'll furiously tear open the smaller ones with a scowl, while huffy-directing the bigger prezzies over there...to the left...your other left.
but then. when all the wrappings are cleared. i'll pour myself a drink. in a not-plastic glass. i will arrange my white not-plastic plates and white not-plastic bowls and fat silver not-plastic candlesticks and hide everything else not-glass plastic from our sight. because four months of plastic is three months, three weeks, and six days too much.
wait. i just felt chills up my arms. glass. linens. chubby towels. turquoise vases. a giant's bed with sheers to close ourselves in at night. and by ourselves, i mean me and uncle sugar and you-know-who.
ours bed is coming! she exclaims whenever she remembers. i've tried to explain that hers is, too, but she has a hard time differentiating between hers and ours. i do not anticipate she will outgrow this by tomorrow night.
and do you know what else is coming? she teases me. your toys? no. our books? oh, man. about four thousand pounds of our books. more chills down my legs. but no. not our books.
bear's coming tomorrow! and with that, she dances away.
crap. bear is our chihuahua. she stayed in jordan.
so i'm sitting here thinking two things. one? bear better not show up in one of those boxes. and two? i need to get these girlies a new puppy.
words will be light this week, ok? i want to be sure the girlies three enjoy all things moving, as i am itching for a big move again soon. so i need to make sure there's a total absence of stress and only pure joy at unpacking our things again. no matter how unnecessary, they are still shiny. and ours. boxes from weheartit.