Moving to New Zealand wrecks havoc with the automated phone trees of any given utility company or small business. Even when the live operator finally comes to your rescue, she has no field in her automated computer system for entering "New Zealand" as your destination.
To add to the chaos: Maria wants to "help" pack boxes, so she shoves anything laying around into any non-sealed box. Can't find the car keys? your sandwich? any toothbrush? yeah....probably jammed into the deepest recesses of any one of the ubiquitous boxes. Thankfully, Bernadette has not the slightest concept of what the heck we are doing nor does she groove to the "help" concept yet, but it does just so happen that she is in that developmental stage where babies love to empty items out of a container. Boxes are containers. I think you can follow the chain of logic here. I JUST PACKED THIS BOX TEN MINUTES AGO! WHY IS EVERYTHING BACK OUT OF IT????
Dear reader, you may guess that today's frazzled entry was written not by Richard, but by Kelly. Had Richard written it, he might have shared his shock at the amount of the girls' books and clothing that his wife desired to bring. Perhaps he would have referenced his confusion as to why his beloved spouse feels the need to stockpile mascara for this missionary endeavor - do they not sell cosmetics down under? and if not, would that not be so much the better? Furthermore, why does moving to a foreign country suddenly inspire Kelly with the ineffable desire to abandon disposable diapers in favor of cloth?
Yes, it is mad here. There is much to do. And the hardest, biggest task of all is simply trying to wrap our minds around the truth that 3 weeks from today we will be standing on New Zealand soil, all of this behind us, and we will be engaged in our very first efforts with the youth of St. Thomas More. THAT is truly overwhelming.