So I show up at our new house today with our realtor and the appraiser in tow. Our realtor hadn't called ahead and it appeared that nobody was home so she used her special realtor key and let herself in. Turns out that the seller's incredibly shy teenage son was in the house but didn't want to answer the door.

The place looks a lot like our house does now, like everything has exploded in the packing process. The woman came home and seemed embarrassed that it was like that but hey, I understand. Our house is a landmine too.

Yesterday, Andrea tackled the closet thing under the stairs. Of course, she stopped after getting everything out into the hallway so there were lots of things for the dogs to get into, including an ant trap (shredded to bits, but not to worry, I'd called poison control about this in the past, Alice would have to eat 8 or more of them to have problems. After all they're built with little ants in mind, not 18 pound dogs) and (this is the one that gets me) our wool duster. Blech.