On Saturday morning, I walked out to get coffee to see a big 'FOR LEASE' sign had been strapped to our front fence. My heart broke just a little. I love our house so much, but in just over a week, it won't be our house any longer. I'm sure we'll find somewhere equally lovely when we get back, but this house was just a bit special to me.

We've begun packing in earnest now. Half our furniture is on ebay and the house is full of cardboard box landmines, ready to trip us at any moment.
I keep finding weird, forgotten items that I didn't unpack when we moved house last time. Like a two year old calendar. Or an ugly, ugly handbag that I thought I'd thrown out years ago.I can't say I'm loving the whole sorting/packing thing, but a little furry someone sure is:

Look at that little rockstar face! She's actually yawning, but whatever. She looks like she's moshing at a Metallica gig. She is LOVING the boxes.

T minus 8 days to go.

On the end of work

Two weeks, two days.

Our Visas arrived yesterday. My Visa code? E-3D. D is for Dependent. Thanks for making me feel like a rockstar, America!  I think David is pretty great, but being his dependent? Nooooooooope.

Only three days left of my job now. I'll miss it. I'll miss my team members who bless me when I sneeze, no matter how bad my hay cat fever. I'll miss watching the weather changing its moods over the harbour, I'll miss Margaret's cakes, I'll miss snarking on those who do drive-by thefts of our lollies.  I'll miss the Network who were so supportive and friendly when I started and who have been almost universally lovely. The job before this one nearly broke me, and this one has put my work-sanity back together.

I'm not so sure about this whole being-a-housewife-until-the-US-Government-says-I-can-work thing. I'm borderline ferocious about my independence. Having to rely on someone else financially almost makes my skin crawl. But, I'm starting to see the good sides. Time to write! And bake! And explore!

I'm almost, almost starting to look forward to those three months of all the time in the world.

On flights, visas and poo

On Wednesday morning, we went to the US Consulate for our Visa interview. The interview itself was pretty limited - most of the time was spent in an overheated, bureaucratic sardine can with about 60 other applicants, getting the occasional whiff of poo.

Me: I keep smelling...poo...or something
David: I can't smell anything.
Me: I smelt it downstairs too. This whole building smells like poo. It's overwarm and stinky.
David: Sure you haven't just pooed yourself?
Me: *eye roll*

5 minutes later...

Me: Oh.  Oh dear.  I know why it smells like poo.
David: Because you did poo yourself?
Me: Nope.  There's a great big turd on the bottom of my boot.

So, that was a thing that happened. And was a little gross.
Other than that though, they've verbally given us approval for the Visa and we should be getting our passports back soon. Our flights are also booked.

Seeing that flight confirmation form was quite a shock (by which I mean slight hyperventilation at my desk).  It's not like it should have been, it's not like all this is a surprise.  But just now, the reality is starting to sink in a little.

You could ask me how I feel about that, but I'd tell you I don't really know.

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