…I’m going to explode, or something. But, you know, in a good way, because change is good.

(Who said that? I want to bop them on the nose.)

I haven’t been posting because I’ve either been too busy or too hyped up or too, well, overwhelmed to proceed.

Last week—the week of getting rear-ended and of having a rock crack the windshield and of discovering we owed taxes and had no money in the bank with which to do so and Sophia was on spring break so I had to scramble to fill up the days—was also the week Darin was away. (You’ll pardon me if I don’t mention little things like his being away when it’s actually happening.) He was up in Northern California, at Apple, doing some business stuff. I don’t know what. That part: not interesting to me.

He also spent some time looking at houses. He didn’t want to; the trip we’d taken in March had been excruciating both in terms of time spent and quality of houses viewed. Before he went up for this business trip I finally gave in and said that we should look in an area that Darin had wanted to look in from the beginning but I hadn’t wanted to because it was too far away from Apple and would be too much of a commute. But the areas we’d looked in during that househunting trip were…how shall I put this…no fucking way. It was time to think outside the box a little.

The first day he was up there—Sunday the 13th—I called him on his cell phone to ask him about something or other. Then I asked about how the house hunting was going.

“Oh wow, really good,” he said, and I could tell from the sound of his voice that the house he’d just seen was It. He looked at a few more houses that week, but he was pretty certain that the house he’d just finished looking at the day I’d called was the one. He went to see it again and was absolutely sure.

So this past week has been spent faxing contracts all over California—

“But Diane,” I hear you say, “when did you get a chance to go up and look at the house?”

Short answer: I didn’t. Still haven’t. I said, “Okay, let’s do it.”

If you ever need an example of one spouse’s complete and total trust in the other spouse’s aesthetic taste, just tell them about my complete acceptance of a house 400 miles away. I know what I need in a house; I know that Darin is much pickier both about houses and locations. We had talked (and talked, and talked) quite a bit about must-haves and wants, and from the sound of it this house fulfills most of these needs and wants just fine. So undoubtedly the first time I will see the inside of the house is the day we get the keys, when escrow closes. And that’s okay by me. I guess the universe put out the net or something just in time.

—and picking end of escrow days and setting up inspections hither and yon.

I called my friend E., who’s buying our Los Angeles house, during her vacation to ask her about changing the end of escrow for our end of the deal…and accidentally woke her up. At a quarter to eleven in the morning. Well, she was on vacation, after all. And she doesn’t have kids (or, as we like to call them, the 6 A.M. Gang).

We only have a couple more weeks in LA. I can’t believe it. I keep making lists of things we have to do and things we might want to do and see before we go. And the lists just keep getting longer, as the time gets shorter.

Yo, universe. Yes, you. Stop it.

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Reportedly moving is right up there with death on the stress-o-meter.

I don’t know. Never experienced death. Don’t want to. It won’t be pretty.

I’m having a time of it right now. I have to stop thinking of the ways it could be worse, because I’m scared I’m going to give the universe ideas. Now, you say, the universe is pretty much just a concept, not an entity who can understand and act upon those understandings. And I’d agree with you. But I still don’t want to give it any ideas.

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The other day, the same day we got rearended, I took the kids to get their portrait taken. Of course they both fell asleep in the car and I didn’t have the heart to wake them up. Then it turned out that we were an hour late to the sitting anyhow. It was raining; let’s just go home.

On the way home there was a large Crack! on the windshield, and the babysitter and I both jumped in our seats. A rock or something, we thought.

Today I discovered that there was a good chunk taken out of the windshield. And there’s a crack starting to run through it. The windshield’s got to be replaced.

Oh joy. We get to pay the first $500.

Right before our auto insurance is about to expire.

And you know, we’re moving. So we’re going to renew our auto insurance and then move and have to re-renew it.

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Turns out Bank of America has completely fucked up our credit rating. Says one of our mortgage payments was 90 days late. Uh, BofA? We paid our mortgage by direct deposit, fuckers.

(Stress makes me swear like a sailor.)

I have to dig out the BofA statements, get on the phone, and keep dogging them until they fix it and fix it right now, so we can qualify for a new goddamn mortgage.

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I think I’ve been on the phone non-stop for the past three days. Setting up inspections. (Jesus, there are a lot of inspections when you want to sell a house. It’s getting to be expensive just to sell a damn house.) Calling various insurance companies. Finding out from the mortgage broker what else we have to do to qualify for a ridiculous mortgage.

Then I relax with my computer and unearth scary articles about how there are no preschool spots available in Silicon Valley.

I’d start taking Xanax or something, but I’m still nursing.

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We’ve picked our move date. Sure, I said. Let’s do it, I said. Everything will work out. Let’s leap into the unknown, I said. Thinking, of course, of the saying: “Leap and a net will appear.” I repeat that to myself a lot recently, in the hopes that the damned net-holders will show up and put the net out.

Any time, guys. Any time you want to put that net out, go ahead.

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Update: The babysitter came home from the zoo with the kids. Fia’s completely wiped out. But Simon woke up after a short nap and we cuddled for a while, which made me feel a little better. Then we shared some dinner. Are babies supposed to enjoy New England clam chowder that much?

I love my little honeys. And as long as I keep them in mind, I’m doing okay.

Tried to be a nice mom. Bought a copy of The Little Mermaid (Sophia is currently obsessed by Ariel) off of Amazon zShops. What arrived was a cheap knockoff, clearly a phony.

Have to figure out how to rectify this situation. Dammit.

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Trying to figure out the mortgage thing for a house up north. Big numbers. Huge fucking numbers. Numbers that make me want to cry. If there’s anywhere in the country that screams “dual income,” the Bay Area is it.

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Yesterday morning I decided to take the kids to Barnes and Noble, where we settle down in the Kids section and read books for a couple of hours.

On the way there, we got rearended. I don’t think the other driver was going particularly fast, because our bumper is only a little messed up. But I had a sore neck and a headache all day. Despite the level of stress in my life at the moment, I don’t usually get headaches, so this was remarkable. At no time did I black out or feel the need to take a nap, so I didn’t have a concussion, I was just a little shaken up.

The worst part was that the insurance people kept asking me, “What happened?” and I couldn’t remember. It was just totally blank. Had I stopped to take a right? Had I stopped to let the guy in front of me do something? I simply cannot remember.

And now I have to go buy two new car seats, because whenever you’re in an accident you’re supposed to get rid of your car seat. Insurance should pay for it. Still a pain in the ass though.

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I’ve turned my White Board into a To Do List for this move. Jesus, selling a house takes a lot of inspections. I’m going to be here talking to inspectors until the cows come home, and when the cows come home in Los Angeles, well, neighbors start to talk.

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Usually we get money back on Tax Day. Today I wrote out some gigantic checks.

That sound you hear is me banging my head against the desk. And crying.

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Exercise? Are you kidding?

It’s taking quite a bit of energy to remind myself that eating is not an acceptable response to stressful situations. Screaming is. Meditation is. But eating is not.

Not, mind you, that that reminder is always working.