I feel a tantrum coming on, and unfortunately it is not looming from my four year old or three year old or even baby. It's me. I'm getting ready to scream, shout, and declare life completely unfair.
Today another townhouse went on the market across the street. Exact same floor plan. Exact same price. But they have the coveted deck. And they have grown-up furniture with grown-up wall coverings. I found myself wanting to just go back to bed this morning, if only I could have found something to do with my little rugrats.
This move has been so difficult because nothing is, well, moving. No movement on the house. No information provided from Garry's employer. Nothing. For months, nothing. It has gotten so bad that Garry and I talked yesterday about whether this is a sign that we are not supposed to move. Could something right be this hard?