It's now a tangible fact: we're moving. As of Monday, I gave up keeping the house pristine for the benefit of imaginary potential renters/buyers. The house became a jumble of boxes, tape, and emptied-out closets as we sorted, packed and loaded our red pickup and the car of my parents-in-law with stuff for storage. Lunch break involved pizza, which was appropriate on CP's birthday. (I can't count how many times he's paused over a slice to remind me, "I love pizza.")
Today, my dad-in-law was back with the empty pickup to help with spackling wall holes. CP took him home with another load of boxes and came back with supper, compliments of his mom.
Next on the agenda: repainting and installing a washer/dryer stack unit. As it turns out, most renters/buyers in this part of the world seem to consider a dryer an absolute necessity. This evening when I fretted about a new scratch on the less-than-a-year-old range, CP reassured me that he wouldn't not buy the house because of a stove top scratch.
"I wouldn't not buy this house because it doesn't have a dryer," I countered.
CP lamented, "Too bad you're not the one looking to buy this house."
"The problem," I said, "is that I already did."