Between the hours of 4:30 and 7:00 p.m. last night, I had successfully 1) looked at a house, 2) sold a house, 3) bought another house and, 4) mowed my lawn. Oh, and 5) consumed a 32oz beer to dull the swirling panic of #1-4.

So it’s true. Bearing any and all small trip-ups that could occur, I think The Wife™ and I may just have pulled off our second Greatest Feat of Adultitude.* Unless of course the inspector finds out that our new home was a meth lab. Or discovers secret tunnels that lead to the Dairy Queen. Wait, if they found those WE’RE TOTALLY NEVER LEAVING THAT HOUSE.

Anyway, it hopefully is all said and done. We’ll probably close on both houses (in the same day?!) at the end of May. So the next three weeks will be a whirlwind of packing, writing checks and wedding events. No, we’re not going for a second round. It’s just that as everyone in the Midwest knows: April through November is one continual reception for anyone over the age of 25. I think we have 482 weddings between now and Christmas. And that’s not even counting the eleventy dozen bridesmaids lunches, bachelor/ette parties, showers and other such gratuitous soirees that are really just excuses to eat tiny sandwiches that no normal person would otherwise eat. Except I would. If I could just find those tiny loaves of bread at the store. And trust me, I’ve looked.

So there we have it. All in all I should be ecstatic. I should be peeing myself with joy. But really, the instant that The Wife™ told me the counteroffer, The Terror struck. Apparently when everyone else was standing in the Happy Line in heaven, I must have been distracted by a shiny object over in the Severe Anxiety line and thus missed out on the fun. Because instead of being happy about these things, I fret and agonize over every small detail, thus erasing any enjoyment. And I’ve come to live with this, but I feel badly that The Wife™ doesn’t understand. It’s ok though, she’ll just have to get used to it. Just like the rule about “don’t screw with my morning routine involving syncopated and choreographed maneuvers in the kitchen to get out the door with my coffee.” And yes dear, if you’re reading this you were in blatant violation of that one this morning.

Moral of this story? If I don’t off myself in a blaze of cardboard glory before moving day, anyone and everyone is welcome to stay. For as long as you like. Though you may have to bring your own furniture as we currently only have enough to outfit 39% of the new house (figure based on comparative square footage, numbers may vary). But with five bedrooms, hell, you can each have your own.

*this of course is second only to getting married, which we still think is funny since we feel like 10 year olds playing house.