We leave in 2.5 weeks.
Now we’re in code red countdown, everyone is finding their own unique way to cope with the big move.
Alex’s nerves have launched her into a selling and disposal frenzy. Everything is up for grabs in our house. If it’s not nailed to the floor, chances are it’s a goner.
Don’t be taken in by Alex’s happy-go-lucky, hippy-dippy midwife demeanour. Beneath all that fluff is a calculated woman with an eye for a fast buck.
Prime example: the other day I wanted to rustle up a toasted sandwich. That is, until I discovered she’d got rid of our Breville. Sacrilege. I estimate that this act alone has reduced my ability to cook by 50%. I now can’t locate our wedding DVD, or the left shoe of my favourite pair of converse, so I suspect she’s flogged them too.
Daisy is focusing on our upcoming appointment at the US Consulate, honing her techniques in case they decline our visa application.
This morning I handed her a hairclip she asked for. BIG mistake. Before I knew it I was offering her every single hair accessory I could lay my hands on, just to calm her down. I think I even offered her a fiver out of sheer desperation. If she continues in this vein, the Consulate will be throwing green cards at us just to keep her quiet. Seriously, that kid knows how to negotiate.
Ava appears to be taking the whole thing in her stride, but I worry there’s some things she’s not telling us. She talks a lot about wearing ‘bare legs’ in California, going swimming and eating ice-cream. I think it’s a front for the deep, underlying anxiety she has about our tax exposure, the status of our visa application and the absence of Mr Tumble from US TV screens. I believe there were some security concerns over the contents of his spotty bag.
In the next few days, we have the joys of a pre-move shipment survey, a tenancy agreement to finalise and the big visa appointment. Stay tuned for details and live commentary of the ensuing nervous breakdown.