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Moving out of a house is like putting a dog to sleep. The longer it takes, the worse it gets.

I wish I could just leave my house at the height of its welcoming prettiness. Instead, I’m stripping the life from it each day, seeing it a little less vibrant all the time until Saturday, when it will be naked and dead to me. 

Right now the windows are bare, the walls are bare, the cabinets are bare, so are the closets, the tops of furniture, ect, ect. BARE BARE BARE. You get the picture. 

But my Amazing Baby is beautiful and delightful (grunting in his sleep as I type) and my hubby is still charming and oh so helpful (even if I am grouchy and exhausted). And when we roam the earth as homeless adventurers as of September 25, at least we’ll be together:)

Even if our house is dead and bare:(

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