So we moved. And by “moved,” I mean we loaded our stuff into a truck and drove less than a mile to an apartment with more space, less drunk people throwing up next to our bedroom window (so far), and far more sanity all around us.
The state of our new living room as of a night or two ago:
Yes, we did this with a seven-week-old in our arms the whole time, for those of you taking notes.
Many thanks to all the friends who lent a hand or a back over the weekend.
And thanks to my bosses who resisted the urge to insist that I work today. (We sent an intern to the illegal fireworks at the beach with a video camera – I’m banking on greatness.) I can hear all the action from our dining room table, now that we live on a block that’s actually above sea level.
One of the fun parts about all this packing and piling has been reading Grapes of Wrath in the middle of it all. The Joads just got to California, and they’re hanging out by the river near Needles waiting for the sun to go down so they can cross the desert.
Our short trip wasn’t quite so dramatic, but it was worth it.
Happy Independence Day.