barefoot and disheveled

I am utterly spent with this whole moving process. Yes, we are moving from our little house on the dirt road to my parents house on the highway. It's an upgrade in many ways, but scenery and smells are not upgrades by any standards. Things I look forward to: Ransom's room with a door that he can sleep in, quietly and away from the noise of the house. My mother's oven. I will bake. Oh yes, I will bake. The backyard - small but beautiful. It's a little oasis bound in by a privacy fence so you forget for a moment that you are in fact, only a few blocks from the beltway and a few minutes from the chemical plants. We'll play there a lot, I'm sure.
The thing is, I am tired of looking forward to. I'm ready to be doing. Living. Baking. Unpacked. Cleaned. Reading a book from the enormous bookshelf they're leaving us to fill for a while. Swinging with Ransom in our hammock and NOT being eaten by mosquitoes.
For now we are living amongst boxes, exposed dust bunnies where furniture used to stand, the odds and ends that don't seem to belong to any of the boxes, and the strange feeling of being already there, but not yet. Hmm.. now what else does that sound like? And how to do it gracefully? Truthfully, sometimes I just suck at graceful.
Ransom has been a trooper through all of it, as has Nalu. They're somewhat off keel, but you can only tell if you know them. I can tell. We're taking refuge in bath time and dinner time. I mean, I honestly think that we could pack our whole lives into boxes, but if we left out one warm, fluffy, hooded towel and a pair of pjs, he would put up with just about anything. What can I say? My little fish loves the water...