The Hobbit Hole

Precisely two days ago, Mrs. RW and I managed to finally realize the American Dream and plunge our happy family irredeemably into debt. I understand that it is the goal of all good citizens of this great country to individually demonstrate the true spirit of our country by voluntarily promising someone you’ve never met ludicrous sums of money that you don’t actually have and spending the rest of your life frantically trying to make it in order to pay them off.

Yes, we’ve finally bought a house. The house we managed to purchase isn’t very big or very luxurious, but I’m reasonably certain that the roof doesn’t leak too badly and the toilet flushes, so we’re pretty much set on the necessities.

The joys of home ownership have already started and we haven’t even moved a single piece of furniture yet. First, I paid the standard extortion fees to the water and electric companies so that they would turn on their respective services and then discovered the following: the walls need to be repaired and repainted, the garage door is stuck, the carpet needs to be cleaned, and for some odd reason the previous owner left some very large and creepy mirrors bolted to the wall.

The truly difficult part about moving into the new house will be of course actually picking up everything you own and packing it onto a truck only to pick it all back up again, realize it doesn’t fit in your new house, throw it out and drive to a store to pick up all new stuff. Having moved twice already with Mrs. RW I know that this process is as inevitable as the tides. She hasn’t actually said anything yet, but I won’t be altogether surprised to find a furniture truck parked in the street when I get there.

Still, I could handle all of that with aplomb, if of a uniquely surly variety punctuated by long-suffering sighs and eye-rolls, if it weren’t for the added complexity of the children. For those of you who have never had the special joy of moving with young children I would suggest that you try it, but I can’t afford to be connected with violent crime in any way. My children have made it their life’s work to sabotage any and every project I attempt. So this move has presented them with a unique and delightful opportunity.

Just this weekend I was sorting through some old boxes and throwing away useless nonsense that had been completely forgotten. Every time I dug into a new box the girls saw something that they not only had to keep, but needed to play with right then. By the time I was finished, the garage was in a worse state than when I started (which is saying something, believe me!). If last weekend was in any way prologue to this one, please don’t be alarmed if you happen to see some girls tied to the roof of a moving truck. They are perfectly safe; I was an Eagle Scout.

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