After about a week of work on my part, I have cleared all forty levels of The Cow Game, or IQ Marathon as it's German creators call it. Play it yourself and see just how fabulous it feels to win.
Nathan's mother has agreed that we can stay at their house for a few days in December while we move in. Both sets of Grown Ups seem to be waiting for us to screw up so they can say they told us so. It's not encouraging necessarily, but at the very least we can succeed and prove them wrong.
I cannot wait to have my own bathroom with a shower (and a bathtub!) within feet of my bedroom. I have delightful little thrills at the thought of having a freezer and a stove and an oven on which I can make whatever I want, rather than having to hope the dining centre has something I like and want. Better than major appliances, however, will be Nathan and I living together. My joy here expands at the thought of living in 600 square feet rather than the current 30. Our new bedroom will be bigger than his dorm room. I love the guy, but I'm not Herbert Hoover's family. (Herbert Hoover's family of seven lived in a two room cabin.)
I worry about having made a grave under-estimate someplace though. What if the electricity bill is larger than we figured? What if his truck bites the dust? There are a whole lot of things that could possibly happen and we would be in a fix. This would be the opportunity for everyone who wished could say they told us so. The thing is, I don't enjoy being told so.