I see Scott with a crayon.
I begin calling out to M in a panicked voice: "Take that...Cl...Sc...hu-yah.... GET THAT OUT OF HIS HAND!"
I think I'm frazzled because I've begun speaking with inarticulate exclamations. Why didn't I just get up and take the crayon from Scott instead of just grunting away like some paranoid neanderthal? We're moving to the house in less than 60 hours (but who's counting?). I'm really starting to worry that we won't be ready. This nagging worry is a big blow to my deep set belief that with enough preparation and planning, any event can go smoothly. I mean, why should I be stressed about being "ready"? We have our apartment for a little over 2 weeks after we move our furniture over to the house. That should be ample time to take trips in our van to get anything that isn't ready on moving day.
Clearly there is a rule that supersedes my planning theory: Moving always sucks.