In a week, we’re outta here. Don’t think that thought doesn’t cause an instant feet-numbing panic attack. I know it’ll all work out, I know certain things are just left to fate. But I’m just going to embrace all the anxiety and bottles of wine possible.
There’s a line of suitcases in the hall to be filled today with stuff we want to take with us on the plane. Maura’s packed her carry on case with her swimsuit and a sparkly dress. Once again, I’m grateful for her love of traveling and sense of adventure.
We do have professionals coming to pack up house and dog (yes, dogs are coming with us, don’t worry) and car is going up for sale today. I’m already thinking of who I can give boxes of food from my cabinets too, so it doesn’t go to waste, and which body care products aren’t worth moving.
Meanwhile, Ireland has gotten gorgeous and sunny and beautiful and summery again. Which is a bit of a cruel trick. When Ireland is like this, it’s the most beautiful place in the world and I never want to leave. But as Josh says, at least we’ll remember it in all it’s glory and not grey, chilly, and rainy.
And last night, there was a fox in our garbage. Which is way cooler than having raccoons, but also more instantly destructive and the reason why I can’t put two sentences together coherently. Because Zoey the dog had to alert us to the fox in the garbage. Both at 12:30 am at 6:15 am.