I repeat: If Suck were an Olympic sport, moving would win the gold every four years. We had decent plans for how we would manage to load everything we owned onto a truck one day, and then unload it the next day. We intended to spend all day last Thursday hauling junk out of the townhouse and into the truck. Except, "We" turned into "He" because "Me" ended up spending the entire morning at the new house waiting for the water to get turned on. Except, "She" from the water authority was wrong when she said the water was off--it was actually already on, so "Me" spent two hours hanging out with our Realtor for no reason whatsoever.

By the time that giant chasm of time suck ended, "Me" had to run a few essential errands and then go to work. Yes, go to work. It was only for an hour, but by the time all the Not Helping was done, it was 3:30 and Mr. Husband had been stuck working by himself for a very long time.

He was positively giddy about it, too. If by "giddy" I actually mean in a really, really, really, really foul mood.

I probably didn't help that mood when I pointed out that only one person in this family should be putting money on games of Tetris, and it isn't him. I'm still really confused how the stuff from a 1000 square foot townhouse wouldn't fit in the back of a 26-foot moving truck, but I fully intent to find Tetris for Wii because I now know that I can slay Mr. Husband at fitting lots of things neatly into a perfectly square.

Anyway, when 2:00am rolled around, most everything was loaded, but I was still in the yard digging up plants that I refused to leave behind. I'm sure the neighbors LOVED that. Ever try to dig quietly? It's HARD, yo. I don't know how grave robbers do it because I know every time I launched the shovel into the ground and slammed into a rock, the resulting *CLANG* was loud enough to wake the dead.

When morning came, two hours after we finished murdering plants with shovels, we were reminded that kids like to prey on the weak. Alexis was ready for action, and we were ready to crawl into one of those empty graves. She was insistent that she not go to school, and instead go play at the new house. Only thing was that we had two closings to deal with, so the odds of her having fun while with us were somewhere between No Way in Hell and Not a Chance. Unless she gets some sort of secret joy from hearing the words, "Sign here," she really was best off enjoying life in the company of all of her bestest friends. If we hadn't been so sleep-deprived, we might have been able to get our point across with significantly less effort. As it was, dropping her off at daycare felt like the biggest Herculean feat of all time. I mean, it was harder than giving birth to the child. There was definitely more screaming involved.

What? I'm not allowed to scream when I drop the kid off? Whatever.

I blame "She" for making "Me" waste time.

Or something.