Domesticity, our version thereof

Twenty three days to go until the BIG MOVE. And we're packed.
Well, one room is.
Okay, one wall of that room.
It's almost packed. Really.
But there's lots of time, right?
To all of you out there with kids, read this and weep: I'm currently sitting here, in the bedroom, and my lovely wife is asprawl on the bed behind me, reading. Blessed silence prevails. And that's utterly normal around here for this time of evening. The only thing different is that she's studying insurance law. (Wait, maybe she's asleep...nope, not yet. They haven't exactly gone out of their way to make this textbook exciting, according to her. Maybe they oughta get John Grisham to try his hand at textbook writing.)
I've said here before that I'm not a night person. What I am is a lark of the most chipper and irritating variety. After a shower (which is my version of a couple of cups of coffee), I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, out cruising for worms.
This contrasts with my wife, who will tell you that the early worm *deserves* the bird. We've worked out a routine in the morning that minimizes the amount of time we have to be in the same room. I'll be listening to the six a.m. news (because hey, twelve whole hours has gone by since I *last* saw the news, and damn it, something must have happened!) Sometimes I will hear something that I just *know* Eva would find interesting, and without thinking, I will sprint to the other end of the house and blurt it out, earning, more often that not, a "that's nice, dear." Translated from the Eva, that means "unless you're telling me that I can go back to bed, shut the hell up."
In the evenings, the process reverses itself and I become the snarky one. Is it bedtime yet, I wonder. No? When will it be bedtime? Soon? How soon? And God help you if it *was* bedtime half an hour ago, because I'm being kept up against my will.
Both of us work hard at our jobs. Mental stress is a fact of life for Eva, and my job can often be physically demanding. When we get home the last thing we want to do is more work. Which is why one wall of one room is almost packed.
And, let's face it, the desire to keep this place clean rests comfortably to the left of zero. I know that with pride of ownership, we'll be a lot more interested in Mr. Sparkle.
Twenty three days and counting...