So, it appears we are moving in 5 weeks. To a whole different country. The enormity (and proximity) of this event is beginning to dawn on us. We haven't yet reached the point where the milk we buy will expire after we're gone, but almost. (I remember the milk expiration date as being the "holy shit" moment of being very very pregnant).
I'm very antsy and ready to pack, but we are still trying to rent out our apartment, so I am reluctant to fill it with boxes. I'm tired of spending all of my time cleaning and getting the house ready to show, particularly since it does not move us toward the goal of packing and organizing our things. One more week and the prospective renters will just have to deal with the chaos, I think.
So far our only offer has been from six (6!) student ballerinas. Which, no. My apologies to all of the lovely, mature, and well-adjusted ballerinas out there, but having 6 dancers smoking and throwing up here for a year is not what we had in mind.
Meanwhile, the girls' passports are still not here. (The first time around, we were told their names were too long (WTF?) -- sorry Armentas, but their Mexican heritage will not be reflected in their State Department documents -- so we had to resubmit). Plus I lost my conversion certificate, which, for some reason I need to get a student visa. (What do non-Jewish students do? Who knows? Cacha zeh B'Yisrael). Luckily, the fabulous Leora Kaye and Jennifer Frost have saved my butt, and a duplicate certificate is en route from Chicago.
All of which is to say that it's going fine, really, and we'll get there, but I wish we could fast forward through all the logistics and be there already.
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