Progress please!!

So the house is almost ready... we're putting on this "magic shine" stuff on the floors today. Last night mom and I painted (and painted and painted) to try to get the den finished. Then I mopped the floors and the husband came over and we scrubbed paint spots and dried joint compound off them and I mopped again.

The carpet guys are coming tomorrow morning at 7 and the movers will be at our house at 8.

I should be excited. I should be hopping around and feeling all relieved that it's almost over, tight? Um, sure, except that while I've been getting the new house ready the husband was supposed to have been working at the old house. You know, packing. He HAS actually packed a few boxes of books. Not all the books. But a few. And Friday when I asked him to pack the dishes and bring them to the new house and unpack them... well, I guess he thought I was kidding. Our house is a mess. I've gone on and on (and on) about that before, but we have movers... people who we have to pay by the hour to move the heavy stuff... coming in just over 24 hours. And, of course, he's working all day today. So it's me, work then new house then old house to pack all of the stuff he was supposed to have already packed.

The best part? His "reason" for not packing much yesterday was that there were "four really important games on," then he got all hurt when that made me look more angry and said that he knew that I didn't understand how important it was to him. I said, "Well if you were watching four games yesterday that living room could have been completely packed."

And then I went to bed.

There's only so much a girl can take. I have a line from the Margaret Cho concert in my head, "Nobody hate daddy more than mommy." I swear, if we can make it through this move we can make it through anything. I am used to being the main person in charge of getting things done in our house (which would be why so little actually gets done), but I would think that right now - especially when I am so stretched out and have so very little left to give - that he would step up and do more. The crazy thing is that he looks at his boxes of books and feels like he has really accomplished something.

It will all be over in a few days. Once the movers have taken care of the big things we have over a week to box up whatever is left. We're also going to call and have one of the thrift shops come and pick up a bunch of crap. (That would be the garage sale that my mother in law thinks I should have. Screw that. It's worth every cent I might make at a garage sale NOT to have a garage sale. And it's cold).

Anyway... I went to the doctor a few days ago and (surprise, surprise) I'm depressed! My doctor was out sick that day so I saw another doctor in the office. He had me fill out a "depression inventory" ("I often lack the energy to finish tasks," uh huh, "I feel unattractive," yup). So I am now medicated. Don't tell Tom Cruise. It's too soon to tell if it's making a difference, but it is making me sick to my stomach so that's fun! I'm taking it at night so that I can sleep through the worst part of the nausea... but I went to bed late last night so, ugh.

But I have a house that is clean and pretty and nice. I almost don't want to move in and spoil it! I stand in the empty rooms and it's all painted and fresh and I imagine my stuff in there and that's ok... but then I imagine socks on the floor and shoes, and I imagine dirty dishes on the counters and toothpaste gunk in the sink and I want to change the locks and not let anyone else in. I am not a person who likes to clean, and I am certainly not the poster child for organization but I have a lot of time and sweat invested in how pretty the house is and I think I'm getting a little obsessive about it.

I'm going to become my mother.

Lord help me (and my poor family).