One week to go

The dash to the finish line to get ready to go has been something to behold. It feels like we have spent two solid months doing nothing, thinking nothing, and talking about nothing but moving to Ireland. From the moment the opportunity was set before me we have barely slept. It's a strange mixture of excitement and anticipation, with a tinge of sadness, topped by a list that is about as long as the one Santa carries. We're checking off tasks as we eat breakfast, I head to work and Sandy keeps buzzing along. We talk about tasks throughout the day, I reply to emails, scan and send documents, do it again when something goes wrong, send more emails, and then wait 12 hours until the recipients in Europe are back at their jobs. I drive home after work, and join Sandy in buzzing through more of the list. She sets aside the 20 pages of tasks that she has completed during the day, and picks up the next batch. We talk about it during dinner, work on it after dinner, go to bed, talk about it in bed, fall asleep, talk about it at 3 am when we find ourselves awake, finally fall asleep, wake up, and do it all again.

Today, eight days from our flight, I'm actually starting to pack my clothes. We each have two large suitcases we'll be checking, one carry-on, and one large box to fill that they'll be shipping over. My job is to go through my closet and my dresser, look every single item of clothing that I own in the eye, and ask: "Have I worn you in the past year?" and "If I take you all the way to Ireland, and give you a spot in my very limited wardrobe, will I be glad I did?"

Should be an interesting day.