No place like home

And we didn't even need ruby slippers to get back here. Though they might have helped with all the moving of boxes. Oh my god, the boxes. Somehow, we always pick the worst weather days to move. We moved into this house 4.5 years ago during the tail end of a hurricane in a torrential downpour. This time it was freezing rain and ice. Seth did 98% of the moving himself, with a U-Haul van, sloshing shin-deep in freezing water and sliding on the ice in the alley behind our house. I'm just not much help, since as the milk cow, I have to attend to the baby. (We tipped our movers really well for the hurricane rain four years ago; Seth is still thinking up his sufficient compensation for this move. I'm afraid to ask, because I fear costume rental could be involved.) By the time all the stuff was in the house, Seth was just done. D.U.N. Stick a fork in him. Or at least a couple of draft beers.

And I know I have said it before, but my god, tiny little babies come with a lot of stuff. I think 75% of what we moved from the apartment back to the house belonged to Helene. Look, here it is. And that's not even all of it. There were a few more boxes downstairs.
Halp! Drowning in boxes of baby accessories! Seriously, THIS ALL BELONGS TO THE BABY.


Tucked in to our very own bed on our first night back with our very own wireless internet. Yeah, we might not know where our dishes or clothes are but we have the Interwebs (and apparently seven chins), thanks very much.