I Can't Complain, But Sometimes I Still Do 2

We moved in a week ago.
It went as badly as I expected, but not worse.  Meaning, I was certainly correct to be anxious.  But it met my expectations, so that's a good thing, to put a Pollyanna spin on it.
The lead mover was a jackass who moved some, but not all of our stuff, and put it in the wrong places, and complained about it.  All I asked for was a place to sleep on Sunday.  Yet Sunday 9pm I still had no beds and the kids had not napped and they were very tired and frustrated.  As the night progressed I knew the movers were unloading things into the wrong places, but a) I couldn't do much about it while having to keep the sleepless kids safe, and b) I kind of didn't care because I didn't think I could stand much more of the lead's whining before I lost my temper to his face.

Thus, virtually every single item in this house had (or still has) to be re-moved by yours truly.  The upstairs is nearly done, but the downstairs master suite is a disaster area.

And there is still several truckloads of stuff at the old house.  The movers didn't seem to know how to pack a truck properly, so not everything fit in the Uhaul.  Mike brought back one truckload and I did one truckload, but now we are both back to work and the moving and unpacking has slowed considerably.

Lost another friend to cancer on Wednesday.  Goodbye dear crazy funny Susanna.  I could always count on you.  You are missed.