New Home. Is It Over Yet?

Several weeks, a nearly broken finger, and a gash in my head all lead up to this: Alina finally slept in her own room for the first time this week. It's a fun place. I get to play in there and not worry about chasing her into the kitchen so she doesn't splash the cat's water dish again. It's two shades of blue and there's a fish wallpaper border splitting the horizontal. So, I suppose if we have a boy one day it doesn't have to be repainted. A note to all those who think they want to paint their walls. Don't. Use. Dark. Colors ... Ever. Our room is a deep red and while it looks good now, it took Forever to get right. But we had to do it. The people before us decided to paint the walls, trim, doors, window sills, and windows in Periwinkle. I'm surprised they left the ceiling alone. It's like they used a garden hose to do it. Must've been their kids room, judging by the 1-2-3 lightswitch plate on the wall.

This move has been a long process. And my computer died somewhere in between. I safely can say, without fear of repercussion, reprisal, or boycott of sex that my wife is the worst packer Ever. Two pots in a box wrapped in sweaters, emptying drawers and cabinets part way and then moving on to the next one. But, she was one half of our muscle over Easter weekend helping to load large objects into the moving truck. Boy, it was so tempting to pick up those nice Latino men who waited outside the U-Haul parking lot, asking for work. Last night, the dining table and carpet came over and Katrina finally has a real dining room (with my PC in the corner). Now she wants a hutch in which to display wedding china and I'm having a really hard time getting behind the proposal. My compromise is that it has to be very small. Not one of these huge, 400 pound Granny Specials. Maybe if it held some of the 40-odd wine glasses we have, it would serve some function other than to display something I assumed we registered for because we lost a bet.

I'll miss my neighbors though. There's the guy who had a permanent scowl and smoked in the hallway that I would go out of my way to be overly cheerful towards, calling him Mr. Smiley. The hip-hop playing personal trainer who amazingly used finger quotes "at" the only words in a sentence "where" it made no sense. The woman over us who wore wooden clogs and liked walking around in them at 3am. Last but not least, the old deaf couple below us whose TV was so loud I could tell what show they were watching. But I think Alina's crawling phase evened things out in the noise department for those below. Ah, New York Buildings. They don't make them like they used to.