July 10th

We were sitting at a stoplight in our rented mini-van. There was myself, my wife, our two children, our nephew, two old and incontinent dogs, and a bunch of stuff from our fridge that we’d hurriedly thrown in brown paper bags at the last minute.

We’d just left the tiny cottage my In-Laws allow us to use when we’re in Richmond and were now on the road to see my parents, who we hadn’t seen in six months.

The cottage is comfy for two. Ridiculously small for a family who are constantly on the move like we are. There’s no room to put anything, and more and more crap just seems to pile up.

There was so much clutter in the cottage on this latest visit that I told my wife that I thought that we were perilously close to becoming one of those hoarder families you see on TLC.

As we tried to collect our breath at the stop light from this life of constant motion, I told my wife I didn’t see how other people could do this, let alone a family of four with two dogs.

For the last three years it feels like we’ve never been able to just get settled. We’re constantly moving from one place to the next, or preparing to move. Right now as I type this I’m in a hotel room looking at 15 pieces of unpacked luggage that will probably remain unpacked until we reach or next temporary hotel lodging on Monday.

Very soon I would like all of this to finally stop.