Make Like A Tree And Get The *#@^! Out

Some random questions I've been pondering lately as I attempt to pack up our many mounds of junk for an impending move:

• Where did all of this stuff come from?
  

• Seriously.
  

• We have so much crap.
  

• Why the hell would we have ever moved across state lines with junk mail from 2004, old Halloween candy and a fold-out poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger from Muscle & Fitness Magazine especially now that my husband and I have neither muscles or a commitment to fitness? (see crusty candy stash reference above.)
  

• Are Cheerios just really good at hiding under the couch or are they able to fornicate and multiply when I am not looking?
  

• Is that what the little holes are for?
  

• How much Diet Coke can one person actually drink before developing serious caffeine twitchies and dropping the can?
  

• Is it prudent to then switch to wine?
  

• Why do I bother wearing anything other than turtlenecks since my chest always seems to come popping out in public when I am chasing/carrying/bending over to grab my kids? And why does this trick happen now, post-breastfeeding, instead of when they were perky little hubs of sunshine and I could have made some cash under the table?

• Why does that first shower after you've had a baby feel so much better than what was even required to get you pregnant in the first place?

• Why does my one year-old find it necessary to show his affection by biting a chunk out of my shoulder like a parrot? And then giggle his head off?

• Does any of this make sense or should I just uncork a bottle of Pinot and continue packing boxes?

And after so many years of being a gypsy, I still hate moving. I bet you all are right there with me, too. Do you have a moving horror story? Please send me your tales of terror! As a reward, I will invite you over to have cocktails and help me wrap the delicates.