Guess how many boxes I've packed?

Not a single one. Honest. It's so unlike me. I'm still trying to wrap up my freelance work, and not having daycare for 6 business days has thrown me off. Lucky for me, the girls go to Grandma Becky's tomorrow for the rest of the week.

Add to that that house hunting from afar is awful. We spent yet another weekend scouting neighborhoods - we've had to get two oil changes in less than four weeks. We did end up putting in two offers yesterday, so hopefully one of them takes. In such a depressed market, it takes forever to weed through all the garbage out there. There have been a few gems, but they're very few and far between. You truly never know until you walk in the door. And most prices are similar, regardless of how much gutting would need to be done. Gah!

The one that put me over the edge yesterday was a beautiful 2-year-old rambler. Lovely landscaping. Friendly neighborhood. Classy stonework around the whole thing. Picket fence. Good windows. And then we walked inside. We could have filled buckets of mold for hours. Seriously, it was around every window and door and along the baseboard of every outside wall. And that was on the main level. The basement was apparently a lot worse - I took DH's word. I'd seen enough and wanted to get my precious lungs out of there before I breathed in any more. Unreal. Of course, DH is curious beyond belief - he's convinced it was a shoddy construction issue. So he wants to figure it out and I just want to forget that whole experience. He keeps bringing it up - different theories about how so much mold could accumulate so quickly. And I keep getting the willies.

Oh well. We did put in offers on two non-molded homes, so something's bound to happen. We're all healthy and doing fine except for the stress of how last minute it's all becoming. Grant has become quite a talker and a squealer - and a giggler. The girls are singing and conversing more than ever. They ran through sprinklers at the lake this past weekend with my folks. And DH and I still haven't killed each other after all this time in the car. He's a pretty good driver and I think I'm a pretty good navigator, so we team up well. And we don't get sick of rhyming back and forth, so that's a plus.

That's all that's new. Still no place to call home. Still haven't begun looking for daycare. Still haven't found my summer-colored suits. And still haven't found my good dress pants. Oh boy.

P.S. While I was spellchecking at the end of writing this post, I heard a lot of commotion from the girls' bedroom. I went in to find Breanna in Lilli's crib with her. It looked like a WWF ring in there. Only with giggles instead of boos. My suspicions of crib climbing are now confirmed. Look out.