The inspection report on our soon-to-be new home wasn't anything traumatic, and makes me wonder just what else they found with our current house that was never reported to us. We're requesting a few repairs, but nothing close to the scale of what we're doing for our buyers. Most of the things the inspector listed I never noticed, and I was reasonably thorough.
We're now officially in August, so everything happens this month. In less than three weeks we'll be midway between houses. Considering how quickly July went by, I should be a bit more panicked than I am. We've got lots of work to do still.
We spent most of the day Saturday organizing the garage, determining what we will sell and what should go in the pile for the garage sale. When faced with moving everything I'm finding I'm getting much more mercenary than I usually manage. I cut my paperback collection in half. I should do the same with my college textbook collection, but that's a little harder to do. It's hard to imagine anyone wanting to pick up "Biology: The Cornerstones of Life" at a yardsale. But it's also hard to imagine my ever opening that book again, even though I loved my Zoology class.
I'm starting to see why my dad has a bunch of outdated science and math books nestled in amongst all the other books on the huge book case at home. Is there out there somewhere an secret ancient textbook burial ground?
The kids are excited to be having a yard sale and moving. The cats are freaking out. They know something is up, but they don't know what. Little do they know that we'll be taking them with us--and that they'd probably prefer to be left behind this time. At least until we get into the new house. I can't imagine them being too enthusiastic about living in a motel for a week.
But then neither am I.
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