in which I get dramatic about moving. again.

Lord. have. mercy.  No really.  Lord, have mercy on us because I’m not so sure we’re going to survive this whole moving gig.  We move in T-3 weeks which seems impossibly too soon and an eternity away all at the same time.

Last week found us in the midst of a teensy bit more drama.  The inspection of the home we’re purchasing revealed some potential plumbing issues.  Fairly freaked out, I did what any responsible future homeowner would do.  I hopped on The University of Google and pored over enough plumbing websites and message boards to earn me an honorary degree in plumbing.  This obviously caused me to freak out even more.  (Because, GOOGLE.)

Meanwhile, sweet Matt tried to temper my falling-apartedness by reminding me that God was in control and had our backs and all kinds of sage and true things.  To which I (not so) sweetly responded, “Won’t you just take your pastor pants OFF!”

Now.  Not only is this a straight up WEIRD thing to say, but it also has the potential of really confusing a poor guy.  “Does she really mean it? Because, if so, awesome.  Or is this some figure of speech?  Ohhh.  It’s that whole can’t-hear-preaching-in-the-midst-of-despair thing she gets into.”

It was the latter.  I’m not proud of it guys.

So, anyway.  It’s not catastrophic.  Says, you know, the plumber.  It’ll be fine.  So will the bat issue.  Yes, bats.  They’re outside(ish) of the attic, but they might as well be in our bed. Sucking our blood.  I told the inspector guy to shoot them.  He cast me a serious look and replied, “Oh, no.  No ma’am.  They’re protected animals.  You can only remove them at certain times of the year.  Otherwise, you’d be breaking the law, ma’am.”  And then he perked up.  While talking about bats.  MY NEW BATS.  “They’re great to have around!  You should build yourself a nice bat box for them.”

I laughed.  Because, you guys, this is a very real problem.  I mean, I am an animal lover through and through.  I show more affection toward my bulldog than most humans.  I slam on breaks for squirrels. For crying out loud, I spent years dreaming of becoming the next Jane Goodall!  But bats? Be gone.  No really.  They’re going to be gone one way or another.  Surely in a *very legal* way.

So, when our days aren’t consumed with plumbing nightmares and (protected) bats, they’re filled with cardboard boxes and goodbyes.  Oh, and Scandal.  Because I’ve determined that binge watching Netflix is far better for our marriage than making crucial decisions regarding our finances and future.  So, if moving day comes and we’re moving our every earthly possession in duffel bags and laundry baskets, I blame Olivia Pope.

Regarding goodbyes.  Here’s the deal.  I’m not moving lightyears away.  I’m moving to the next county over.  An hour away.  But I’m still mourning our impending departure from our sweet little house in the “quasi country” and have been dutifully dragging my kids around town to say our farewells.  Just this morning, we dropped in on the local mini horses.  Because priorities.  True to form, Mary Grace yelled, “I am NOT getting out of the car to say goodbye to horses.  They don’t even care that you’re here, mom.”  Know it all.

While Mary Grace was acting like she was too good to have a moment with tiny farm animals, I was taking this.  A panoramic picture of the farm.  The first time my iPhone has ever taken a panoramic picture in two years.  Of horses.  Tiny horses.  To whom I went out of my way to say goodbye.  I’m not sure what has happened to me.

Whatever.  We’ll survive.  And we’ll keep packing.  And we’ll keep procrastinating and blaming it on Netflix.  And we’ll surely keep visiting our favorite Johnston County haunts to say tearful goodbyes before our long-distance, one-county-over move.  And, ready or not, we’ll be in our new home in three weeks.  Pastor pants and all.