Moving is a blast--don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Here's a journal entry I made a few nights ago. Note my organizational skills and grace under pressure:
After missing my exit, trying to get Keith to the airport on time, after packing everything we own over the course of three weeks and after nearly running out of gas on the freeway by the airport and after finding a discount gas station in the middle of nowhere-Oakland 980/880 hinterlands and after getting aggressively panhandled at said gas station and after getting home and realizing I'd lost my house key and couldn't find it anywhere in the rental car or in my purse, and after getting a call from Keith, whose flight was delayed and after he listened to near-panic-and-emotional-wreck Jackson and me tell him about the lost key; Keith suggested we search our 3-cubic-yard-long-and-wide garbage pile in the front yard because I had completely forgotten that I had taken a pan out there to dump before we had left for the airport. Maybe the key had fallen out of my hand there.
"I'll look!" I said as I ran to our metal scrap pile.
And there were my house keys, sitting on top of a pile of garbage, right in front of our house.
Finally, as Jackson was settled in bed and asking me what if we hadn't found them there, and I said, "I'm not going to worry about that. I'm just happy it's all right now."
Then Jackson smiled and said, "I think we had kind of a confused night!"
Then we both cracked up until we were teary eyed.
Epilogue: I was very careful with my keys from then on (until next time). Waste Management negotiated an end to the 3-week-long garbage lock-out and picked up our entire pile of garbage. The movers were able to enter the house the next morning and get all our stuff. Jackson now sees me as more human, and less of a god (that was going to happen soon anyway). And Keith continues to be a genius.