April Fool's Day

I'm not sure where I am when I wake up. It's a strange bedroom. Oh. The farm. Ah well, much to do and a million boxes to unpack. It is still cold and we turn up the heat but the house is slow to get warm. Of course it is, I think, testily. After all, it's a million years old and all the heat is probably going straight up the chimney.

I spend the morning unpacking. All four of us are unpacking. My sister makes lunch.  After lunch my son calls on the phone to see how it's going. I burst into tears. "Mom," he asks, "is this some weird April Fool's joke?" "No!" I wail into the phone. "It's NOT."
I am crying because I am over tired and because moving is hard. Down-sizing is a popular expression these days and it is the politically correct thing to do. But right now, for me, down-sizing is about not unpacking any fancy shoes or fancy clothes because I'll never have a place to wear them anymore. Ever. Do I know how this sounds? Yes. Childish and spoiled? Yes. Do I care? Not at this moment.
A new neighbor arrives in a white pick-up truck. He is cheerful, asks if we've fired up our outdoor wood stove. There is no wood, but he is in the business so he drives off and reappears half an hour later with a cord of wood. My husband fires up the wood burner and heaven -- the house is warm. I am happier because after a 10-hour day of unloading in cold weather, I have developed a cough and a cold. Still, having the house evenly warm is a blessing.