Final Hours

As I looked (desperately) for my travel mug this morning, I yelled "where is my mug?"

Ella didn't hesitate, she responded "You packed it."

This is not true, of course. I would never pack my travel mug, because I will always need to be able to carry coffee, but it reflects the atmosphere in our home.

The walk-through is today.

The buyers are bringing a partner from the brokerage representing them, a home inspector, and an attorney to the final walk-through.

Yes, there is an office pool as to how much $$ they will ask for in concessions. They may just be nervous, but I call a home inspector and an attorney self-fulfilling prophecies. Don't worry, the office pool is not illegal gambling, we play for pizza and bragging rights around here.

I officially came into my own as a Henn, when I crawled into the cardboard container at the recycling center to retreive a "good box." I didn't need this box (I gave it to a friend), but it was good, and I hated to see it wasted. I have never felt closer to my father-in-law, I am sure he will be proud of me. Slightly surprised, my husband asked me if I had both deposited and withdrew from the recycling container. He has never seen this side of me before.

We celebrated this morning when our trash company took away ALL the trash we piled at the curb this morning.

We are grateful for the neighbors who let us use their excess trash space.

The movers come tomorrow morning, whether I finish packing or not.

Finishing is highly unlikely.

Thus begins the Henn Family Road Trip edition.