We have to move, because the sofa doesn't fit

Please excuse my delay in posting lo and these many days. My laptop was buried in a pile of sofa cushions under a rolled up rug.

It's a long story. But it all began when I realized my parents were going to be here in one month, and I had no where for them to eat dinner. We sit at the kitchen island - we have 3 stools and one adult stands up for the entire meal so as to easily refill plates and cups of water. We have owned several dining room tables but they are always covered in magazines and art projects, so eventually we got rid of them. We also have, literally, the smallest house EVER. The living room is about 1/3 the size of the living room in our last house. And the dining room tables took up pretty much every square inch of floor space.

But my parents need to be able to sit and eat. They also need cable, and I don't know if that is gonna happen - so I really have to make sure they have a table to sit at.

Now, I love to move furniture. And I am famed for starting huge renovation projects right before a special event, or at bedtime. Like the time we installed a new hall bathroom the day of our anniversary party, so we would have a flushing toilet. But this weekend, I outdid myself. We had been casually talking about rearranging our furniture over the long weekend. With three whole days and nights, we had oodles of time to push and shove and slide and scrape and bang and thump and measure and curse and sweep and vacuum and polish.

 It will come as no surprise to you that the furniture moving didn't begin until Monday afternoon, and finished sometime around midnight. And we are not done yet. We stopped only because we were exhausted. And filthy. And because I decided at 10:42 that what we really needed to do was just "....bump out this exterior wall here, give us another 5 feet, and then relocate the front door to that end of the room. Problem SOLVED. I'll go get the saw."

Sam was not amused. He refused to cut a hole in the side of the house, and harsh words were exchanged, like "Don't be such a pussy worrywart!" and "Where's your sense of adventure?" and "We can do anything we want, we own the place!" and also "Fuck you I'm going to bed."

We mostly stopped because I hated how the furniture looked in it's new layout. Which is why I wanted to remodel the house.

To enable me to move furniture more easily.

But without a remodel, my hands were tied.

Because no matter what we did the sofa wouldn't fit anywhere but the one place we could put the dining room table.

And because the ceiling fan is now approximately 6 inches from the top of our armoire - the top of which had not been dusted in, oh, I don't know, EVER. So when I switched on the ceiling light and the fan started to whir dust went flying directly into our bed AND our armoire full of clothes and then I just burst into tears and took a muscle relaxer and drank a huge glass of wine which was not doctor's orders but I think they'd understand.

What matters is:
I have a dining room table.
And I found my laptop.
And I have another bottle of wine in the cabinet.

There are clothes piled everywhere, and the sectional sofa is now a sofa and loveseat, and we are all sneezing and rubbing our eyes from the dust I dislodged under the bookcases and couches, and I still need to buy a bed before MOM2011....but at least our plumbing is intact. At the moment.

Now about that ceiling fan......