by Laura
FOO. As in FOOey. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
This weekend, if we count correctly, we and our brothers made a total of four trips from the house to B2's new apartment. B1 drove his minivan filled with furniture, and we/MDs drove our car with odds and ends in the trunk. We think that the vast majority of the stuff is over there now, and the biggest delay is B2 having to wait another week for phone, TV, and internet to be switched over.
We're not comfortable with the house being empty/unoccupied between next weekend and the closing date. We'll be glad when all of this is over. We're more than eager to get past this seemingly neverending trigger-fest.
Of course, it's mainly Charity that's triggered. (For some reason, the song "Night and Day" is playing in my head now, and I'm about to swat Allegra with a nerf bat if she doesn't STFU.)
Anyway, Charity realized yesterday that going on the trips to the apartment and helping there would mitigate the triggers that she's been feeling every time she goes to the house and sees more and more stuff gone. She mentioned this to B1. He was glad (we ASS_U_ME) to have us there on more of the trips. He also asked periodically how we were doing, and we told him not well, but that we didn't want to elaborate in front of B2, who with all of his issues, would ask more questions than we/MDs are prepared to answer.
So we left the house at 4:30 or so, stopped for groceries, and went home. Scanned another mini-boatload of important documents relating to the estate. And now we'd just like to relax in front of the TV, watching the opening-night baseball game while eating dinner.
Back to work tomorrow. Phooey, with a P-H.
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