Bright and early this morning, the moving truck rumbled down our street and parked its behemothness in front of our driveway. The truck was a tad overkill for the amount of stuff we're taking with us to China, a mansion for a mouse. But it made its point: We. Are. Moving.
Saying goodbye to my kids' friends and their moms didn't make our move real. Not even packing up the clothes and toys that we're hauling with us did the trick. The actual concept of us moving only started to feel real when my hubby broke it to me: "You can only bring 50 books with you into China."
Me: Excuse me?
Hubby: 50 books, babe.
Hubby (staring at the mound o' books I'd been stockpiling): You can't take them all with you.
Hubby: I won't pack any.
Me: But ..but...but I have my research books. And my need-to-read books. And my readergirlz books. And all of the kids' books.
Hubby: 50 books.
So as my books were hauled away, Reality Sank In. As of August 17th, it will be ziejian to the U.S. for a year. (And I really do only have 50 books... if you happen to be truly abysmal in math. Like me.)