Welcome to Limboland.

This past week has been the ultimate test of patience. Our yet-to-be scheduled house closing has been pushed back another week - to the last week of May.

The holdup? The appraiser needs to verify that some painting work was done (it was) and give the underwriter the go ahead to finalize the loan. This task should take a total of 5 minutes, excluding the time it takes to drive over there.

The problem? He's been out on vacation this past week.

Mark and I tried to nudge the process along, offering to help by taking photos of the freshly painted soffits. We even asked if there was anyone else in his office who could step in, but were told that unfortunately only the original appraiser can verify that the work was done. (Ethics be damned!)

So while we sat here all week, wringing our hands and growing gray hair, I've been imagining our appraiser -- probably a big-bellied, bald guy named Lou, Don or Carl -- sitting on a sunny beach, sipping mai tais.

We're told Lou gets back to work on Monday and that there's a slim chance we could close this week Friday or next week Tuesday. Though... realistically, it may be late next week.

It's all getting a little too close for comfort. There's so much in the air. We can't confirm a mover, child care or even begin forwarding our mail. While we've packed some (quite a bit actually), we're at an impasse, unable to pack anything we'll need for the next week and a half.

I've never been a very patient person, but this process has forced me to relax and let go. We can't always control what happens to us, but we can control how we react to it. Rather than stress out, freak out or check out, I've tried to maintain a sense of humor and focus on the little things I can do - not what I can't do.

It very well may be the only thing keeping me sane.