I have spent the whole darn day filling these stupid things out, and attempting (with mixed success) to email all the account statements, paystubs, and other junk needed by the banks/credit unions/mortgage companies in order to write this mortgage. And having done all this, I highly suspect that only one of the banks/CUs/MCs is going to be willing to write this the way we want it (even though we have perfect credit ratings) due to the size of the property, and the rest are just stringing me along, until they get to the part they can say "Now you will have to pay for the appraisal..."
The problem is that when we moved, we packed up my office, where I knew where everything was, and now it is in boxes here, in the basement, and in storage, and scattered on my desk, or available only online using passwords that are older than my latest system for assigning different passwords to everything, or user names and passwords known only to El Jefe. I cannot find anything, and I hate this disorganization.
I particularly hate that the Pirate spent a great deal of time today setting up her room so we could play something, and nearly cried when I told her I couldn't do that until the stupid apps were complete (which of course has taken all day and now she is at TaeKwonDo and will have to go to bed as soon as she gets home and so she didn't get to play with mommy at all).
Both of my children have recently accused me of never smiling, nor laughing, nor playing with them. Well, I do smile, albeit rarely. I have photos to prove it. And I have laughed this week. Once that I can think of. But they are right about my not playing with them. We do our homeschool most of the mornings and I haul them all over the city to various events and activities in the afternoons, but I have played with each of them once, separately, this entire month. That's it. That's awful.
Part of that is being cooped up in this apartment - I'd rather be anywhere but here. Part of it is the horrendous amount of time we've spent looking for/at homes, both on the computer and in the car. It is also that whatever part of me used to like the "Kingdom of Make-Believe" has long since atrophied into negativity. Dolls bore me. Dress up irritates me. I'd like to play real games, but that means putting up with certain poor sports, or games that involve only chance and no skill. I'd like to do some art projects, but since I'd be the one cleaning those up, they don't thrill me much either. Oh, my attitude is so negative I could scream. In fact, I do. Not that it helps. And now I must return to the idiotic email and see how many mail-fail messages I have now. Grrr.