Hey, all! (woops! Rubbermaid bin comin’ through!) Come on in, but watch your step!
Just wanted to take a minute and (no, your room is not clean. Try again) say a quick “Hello!” while we’re (because I distinctly remember it having a floor, that’s why) in the middle of packing my college kids and rearranging (oof, what do you have in this pillowcase?) living space.
David and I leave for Salt Lake on Wednesday, (yearbooks?? You filled a pillowcase with yearbooks??) and with his departure I’ll reclaim my (no, I don’t think your roommates will care about your weenie haircut from seventh grade) guest room. Woo-hoo!
He’s starting at the University of Utah (you’ll need hangers, son) on August 24, and he’s doing the major room overhaul (well, for starters, girls notice when a guy’s shirt looks like he stores it in a mason jar) he somehow managed to avoid (why are you putting your long-sleeved T’s in the D.I. pile?) when he left on his mission. (Have you googled SLC winters?)
Meanwhile, Vanessa is prepping for departure (that closet shelf needs to be empty. M. T.) to the BYU formerly known as Ricks (which means the Bratz dolls whose hair you cut to the scalp go in the ‘buh-bye’ pile) on September 5 (along with that EZ Bake oven. Your apartment will have a microwave.)
That promises to be a fun adventure (sorry, Cori, “kicking stuff down the hall” is not an acceptable moving method) for both of us. Unlike the U of U, whose “Welcome to College” theme seems to be (are your arms painted on?) based on Sparta’s military induction program, BYU-I treats the situation (just find a box. Or a laundry basket. Or a llama.) more like an adoption. “Parents can leave their children on the Student Services building steps, and we’ll place them in a loving, nurturing environment.” (What th- ?! Criminy, Jake, that almost hit me!)
Oddly, BYUI does this (well soccer trophies don’t fly under their own power) track system, so Vanessa will be (ask your dad where he keeps the spackle) home again in December. Then she’ll return (I don’t know, have you checked the garage?) to Rexburg in April and won’t come back to Vegas (sorry, son, you can explain to him why there’s a tiny cleat-shaped hole in the door frame) until late July.
It makes for kind of a strange (nice try, but toothpaste and magic marker aren’t going to fool anyone) school year, but at least she can do (you can look up ‘hari-kiri’ on Wikipedia, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got to be Japanese for it to take) all of that wonderful Christmas music stuff during her first semester.
Cori just got her (um…why are all my church books going into your suitcase?) driver’s license yesterday after a marathon, (yeah, well I’m teaching Book of Mormon in Seminary, Isaiah in Institute, and D & C in Gospel Doctrine) 11-hour stand-by session at the DMV.
This is a huge (that means I need my reference materials) relief, since she is doing a college / high school kind of thing for the next (you’ll be living in Church Reference Materials Xanadu, Dave. I think you’ll manage) two years and will be driving between (they’re called “libraries”, son) two different college campuses this first semester.
So Cori’s moving into the (holy crap! Where did you get the idea that dressers roll??) big bedroom, where we’ll be putting David’s bed and Vanessa’s (I swear, if those drawers are jammed again…) desk, all in the hopes that this will inspire her to new heights of (dammit, go find a crowbar) time management and hyper-studiousness.
Anyway, what this mostly means is (do you smell something?) I’m going to be pretty busy for the next (seriously, is someone burning plastic?) couple of weeks, and I’m not sure how much (K, that’s smoke! Why is there smoke coming out of your closet??) blogging I’m going to get done.
Getting my kids into (wait. Where are the Bratz dolls?) college is taking more work and effort (and the EZ Bake oven…?) than it ever did (are you freaking KIDDING me?) when they were little. (Don’t talk to me about “rites of passage” you nitwit!!)
But as hard as it may be to accept, (get the fire extinguisher already!) our kids are growing up.
And they’d better make a success (are those my good salad tongs??) of this college thing. Because by the time (hang on, where are you taking that mess?) we get them packed and moved, (it’s still flaming for crying out loud!!) there will be nothing left (not the pool! Not the pool!! GAAAAH!) of our house, and we'll be forced to live in their basements.
Ah, great. Stupid neighbors called Hazmat again. I guess I’d better get the door.
Enjoy the rest of your summer, chiquitas! Catch you on the flip side!
(I’m coming, I’m coming…sheesh, they act like they’ve never seen a chemical fire before…)