A few words about moving and that little place I like to call Purgatory

Greetings, earthlings. Things are going well with the whole house buying thing, which means we'll probably be moving in a week and a half. For the third time in a year and a half. Awesome, no? I finally found some boxes and have managed to DI/trash approximately three items from our apartment, so things are progressing nicely. Madeline is nearly as good at unpacking as I am at packing, so we're both working hard. Although I'm winning by about a dozen boxes at the moment. And Jessie disassembled his weight set, so we're both finally getting some exercise. (Kidding, Jessie. You know we already get exercise chasing Madeline around at church.)

So, this is our plan for the next two weeks: pack, do homework, repeat. Move all our junk. Clean our apartment. Go camping for three days. Smart of us, eh? Then we can come home to a nice, new, house full of boxes with all our dirty camping gear. If we ever get home. Because we're going to...please hold back your cries of dismay...a little place called Antimony. You know, that town in the middle of nowhere. That eats people. And cars. I'm starting to think the place is cursed. So I was pretty adamant that we move before we go down there, in case we get kidnapped by aliens and don't make it back in time to let the new renters take over our apartment. I tried to start an underground family coup to change the location of our annual camping trip, but was pretty much overruled by people singing about tradition.

(And let's just remember how well that worked out for this guy:)

So, Antimony, I'm giving you one more shot. You've stolen my dignity, my time, my sanity, and my car. If you take my firstborn, that's it. We're camping in Yellowstone from now on.