We're buying a house. We're planning on moving into it next weekend. This weekend we packed up our rent house....or rather, my very orderly husband packed up our rent house and I wandered around listlessly, groaning softly. Why do I turn into such a big child during times like this? Packing. Cleaning. Organizing. How hard can that be? It just seems impossible. I get so overwhelmed looking at it all. Books and linens are the only thing I can pack. They are easily stackable and you know you probably don't need them until you are safely at your new abode. I also can take picures down off of walls. This drives my husband crazy. "Why bother with that?! There are a ton of other things you could be doing!" Which is true, but taking pictures off of walls feels like the ONLY thing I know how to do. Actually, everything I did this weekend drove my husband crazy. He's trying to pack and I'm wandering around holding empty boxes, watching "E!" True Hollywood Stories and "Cribs" on MTV. The worst point was when I was standing there, watching the end of "Rosemary's Baby" on the SciFi channel, and he walked in and flicked it off. I was like, "Hey! That was important!" He stomped off, muttering about his lazy good-for-nothing wife. I feel like a kid who's just gotten in trouble.

The thing is, I'm very good at other stuff. In emergencies, for instance, when someone has whacked his or her thumb off-- I'm the gal you want. I have a very level head during such times, whereas my husband is Mr. FreakOut Man. Or directions and maps. I am a very good person to have along when you are travelling. I'm good at entertaining babies, picking ticks off of dogs, having patience with boring or insane people... I just wish my husband would remember these things when I am taking the fifth nap of the day, just to avoid cleaning the toilet.