(side note: I love that my daughter has registered for gifts at Canadian Tire . It removes any doubt as to her DNA. For her entire life, she has seen me dash to the mailbox and pore over the weekly flyers like some perv leafing through the latest issue of Jugs 'n' Booties, which, if it isn't a title for a girlie magazine it totally should be. In latter years when the new flyer has arrived, the girls have taken to rolling their eyes and saying "Oh, don't even bother trying to talk to him - he's all wrapped up in his tool porn." )
But before all the matrimonial goodness, Erin and (I have to get better at doing this:) my *coughfutureson-in-lawcough* are moving from their apartment in the centre of the city out to a house they bought in the country. A house that is approximately 1/4 of a mile from where I'm sitting. (Coincidence? Erin swears it is. OK.)
And that big event is today.
So, today I hop in a rented van and go with them to supervise the move into their first new home. (What? Of course I'll supervise. When I was in my 20s, I would help friends move. I have done my time. I am a Mover Emeritus. They're lucky to have my advice. They're young and their backs are strong. I'm the brains of this operation.)
They just pulled up and we're waiting for her sister to get changed from her pyjamas and be ready to go. I don't remember ever seeing Erin this excited. If it seems extra bright in your part of the world, you can thank the spill-off from this tiny Island, where Erin's face is pretty much lighting things up.
Remember the most excited you've ever been? Yeah, triple it.