na foine ting

Sunday, October 09, 2005
It's three in the morning.

All our worldly possessions are on the front lawn.

Becca has been playing an involved, epic game of Tetris with the stuff and the crates, where we march stuff down the walkway and she attempts to fit them into the crates, turning things this way and that. Although when you line similar stuff up, the whole lot doesn't disappear.

I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Bec just got a two hour nap, so it was my turn to look at her with tears in my eyes and say "we'll never get it all packed. The trucks will come and take the crates away and all our stuff will be on the lawn and it'll never get to Boston and we'll never get to have it."

(This I'm sure taps into some deep FSB paranoia about moving I'm not willing to delve into at this hour.)

Becca said "if the movers come, I'll send them away."

"You can't do that."

"Yes I can. Watch me."

"Really?" The hopeful, small voice of a once child who's so glad that her stuffed animals (or computer or very favorite mattress) is going to Darkest Africa *with* her.


I beam. "You can do *anything*."

"You think?"

Nodding. "If Becca says is so... so."

And I go off to drink some tea and pack more stuff.

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