I was reminded today at the grocery store with A, that we are Nomads. We had finished a knock-down, drag out shopping trip. The kind that reminds you WHY you don't take a 2 year old shopping. Those trips where kind, grandfatherly looking men LAUGH when your sweet, adorable child decides to take her crocs off and throw them at you, all the while screaming "Help! Help! Help!". The kind of trip where your lips don't move, but you and your child can hear a guttural voice saying "When we get home......." (you can go ahead and fill in the blank....You know where it ends, and if you don't, then you obviously don't have a 2 year old)
Ya, that kind of trip.
After retrieving her crocs from the polar ends of the parking lot (that girl has an arm, thank god she's got no aim!), I opened the trunk to be greeted by ALL of our laundry. All.of.it. We had 2 showings and an open house last week. To make the 1st floor laundry/bathroom appear larger, we've taken to storing the dirty laundry in my trunk. Along with a boppy pillow, my duffel bag for weekend trips and an HD antenna. Eclectic, no?
Could be worse. DH drives around with a bright pink, Princess couch.
Ahhh, selling a house. Gotta hate it.
(If you've got an in with the gods of home sales, can you put in a good word for us?)