I'm feeling extremely discombobulated, although I'm sure that feeling will lessen as the week goes on. We are now more than 3/4 moved into my parents' basement (a.k.a. the Cave). The computer is set up (although not net-ready, alas), the futon screws have completely disappeared, and we've spent far too much time debating the location of the GUD (which the Boy will continue to use here). Some stuff is exactly the way we'd like it; other stuff is temporally displaced or just plain missing so that we have to compensate in various ways that feel like camping. In other words, a very typical move. And like most moves, the first couple of days feel very odd. A girl we knew in Nova used to call it losing our groove, and that's as good a description as any. Being on maternity leave is leaving me pretty grooveless; this makes it worse.

Oh well. At least my long-buried nesting impulses can go toward a good cause.

The main effort yesterday was brilliant. I was worried that it couldn't possibly be as calm and together as last weekend, especially since we're out of breakfast food at the Rockethome and this always makes mornings suck. But it was great.

A few hours after we awoke, I picked up a weakly-protesting Dirk, took him to the university to clean up after one of his forgetful co-workers and purchased a dozen donuts for our heavy-lifting volunteers. My dad, in typical dad fashion, had assured me that he would be over with the truck between 9 and 10. By eleven thirty, we were a little put out by his continuing absence. (Except for Dirk, who was contentedly drinking coffee and reading the Globe & Mail. Whenever he would bitch about being up so early, I would remind him that it was just like any other weekend, except he was wearing pants.) Turns out that my dad & my uncle were hopelessly bogged down with a malfunctioning nail gun, and they ended up sending the truck with my cousin and Scout (who had come down for the weekend to socialize and suddenly found herself lifting the majority of our crap). We moved all afternoon, finally breaking for fish n' chips around 3 when Dirk's blood sugar level dipped to critical levels. Dirk, Scout, the Boy & I spent the rest of the night watching teevee on my parents' big screen (yay for somatic Metallica specials!) and setting up small things (like our amazing floor futon!)

Today we cleaned out the truck & tried to make things fit coherently. It's just one of those things that saps your will to live after a few hours - especially in the early stages, when nothing is quite nesty enough for even partial relaxation.

Booty Call: Day 261 - Sprout wishes that I would stop eating chocolate bars for dinner.