So they loaded up the truck and moved to....Clearfield.

. 

Almost four years ago exactly, Gary and I hammered a couple of 'For Sale' signs in our neighborhood and yard. I'm think I'm supposed to remember the hope and excitement we had that day, but mostly I just think about how clean my house was. Seriously, my house was so clean the day the realtor came over to take pictures. We even really mopped, and not just Swifter mopped. Actually, that may have been the last time we really mopped? I remembered it smelled so freaking good.

---------------------> Fast forward 4 years. 

I think it smells like wet dog, foot, and apple cinnamon in here. We are clearly trying to cover up the smell with every Glade product on the market. 

For every single item I pick up, Charley drags out four equally or larger sized items. Isn't that a Newton law or something? 

Hang on. Charley just ran into the living room to ask me if she can help cut daddy's hair - she is wearing high heels and underwear. Awesome - this means hair all over the bathroom floor and/or another trip to the ER. Shout out to Gary. It's good he is teaching her a trade. Maybe beauty school will keep her off the stage. But really, today? We need to do this right now???

You know back in 2008, when our house was immaculately clean, moving would have been a breeze. I hadn't gone back to grad school yet. Gary wasn't neck deep into operating a MMA media business in addition to his real job. Charley was a tiny little infant confined to a crib and had tiny little toys instead of a 75 lb music stage. 

It was all too simple. 

So here it is, March 31st. We finally sold our house. It happened very suddenly and unexpectedly. Technically our house wasn't even on the market, but through word of mouth and God's wicked sense of humor we finally sold our doublewide to a sweet elderly couple, who really need to live here. 

Yeah, sure. I should be jumping up and down and crying tears of joy. This is everything I've wanted! But all of that is a little suppressed right now as full on debilitating panic sets in. Here's the catch: 

                                                                  We have to be out by April 15th. 

15 days. 15 days to pack and move almost 10 years of our lives. 

Add in the following: I am recovering from strep. I have 495 assignments to do for grad school and my job. Gary is preoccupied with a MMA fight this week.  Charley is, well - a pain in the ass. She's acting like an emotional, bipolar 13 year old. She goes between full-on euphoria that we are moving, to crazy-sobbing depression that we are leaving her 'house, her home, her Baff County." Plus, she is extra pissed that we are, in fact, not moving into a castle. When she's not going full-on Lindsay Lohen crazy she's just being 3 and making messes. Everywhere. 

Yeah. This is more like it. This is exactly how I dreamed our moving day to be: the hope and excitement all buried deep beneath dysfunction, chaos and dirty laundry.

Pictures of our house - Pre-Charley. 

That rug was destroyed a few months later in a candy corn meets Gunner vomit incident.