The horror, the horror

We're reasonably tidy people. Or so I thought. Why then, when we move furniture or large appliances, do we find piles of dirt and grime that look like they could only have come from a slovenly hovel in a bygone era? Like one where they didn't have soap. Or water. Or hands.

It's not just the cleaning. Randy and I are both going through some amazingly stressful stuff. Work, money, new house, travelling with an almost-two-year-old. And the stress is beginning to wear on Brett too. He's very excited to have so many boxes with words on them, but as the boxes increase, the stuff to play with seems to disappear —— and I think he's noticed. I packed a musical thing we've had since he was very little. He still likes to lie under it and kick the pieces to make the music start (he knows that's what he used to do because we told him, but he does like the music).

We've told him we're moving, that we're putting his name on boxes so that when we get to our new house the movers will know they go in his new room. We've told him we're going to be living near Jennifer and her mommy and daddy. I know he doesn't get it, and I know it will be tough for him to adjust. If he could help somehow it might make it seem more real to him. But short of using him to clean the dust behind the stove, I think we're just going to have to get though it.