The sad part is, it's only a fraction of what we paid for all that crap

In less than two weeks, life as we know it will change. Noah and I will be doing far less cooking. We'll have a built-in babysitter at any time of day or night. We will no longer have to pay for the Internet.

I know what you're thinking...robot...but that's not it.

My parents are moving in.

Dad cooks, and Mom works from home so she'll be picking up the Internet tab. And, well, Ethan is the cutest child in the world, so the babysitting thing's a no-brainer.

This is a temporary measure in which the 'rents will be staying with us until such times as their house sells or we throw them out in a family-destroying fit of rage or until such times as my dad secures a job down here, which will be much easier if he's, you know, here.

On a separate and unrelated note, if anyone is interested in buying a house in the Chicagoland area, I know of a great two-story, four-bedroom home with a recently remodeled kitchen and master bath, as well as a solid oak staircase off the marble foyer, which is overlooked by a half-walled bonus room. Did I mention the family and living rooms? And I can't forget about the dining area and the eat-in kitchen? I hear the sellers are motivated.

No, but we really are looking forward to them getting here, for the reasons mentioned above, and also for the fact that with the grandparents in the room next to Ethan's for a few months, Noah and I can theoretically sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake up to the scent of hot tea and toast with bacon crisping in the oven. Ahem, DAD.

All this is to say, we've been cleaning out our spare room.

Our spare room contained: One of Noah's childhood dressers that we refurbished, a desk-turned-sewing-desk where my sewing machine collects dust lives, a bookcase/computer desk, and a full-sized bed. So we cleaned out the drawers of all my crafty stuff, reorganized the closet to make some space, and went through all the many books to see which ones we didn't need or want anymore. Some of the choices were easy—for instance, getting rid of copies 2 and 3 of What to Expect the First Year, and one of our two copies of Sir Walter Scott's Waverly—others required some discussion—like Noah's book about vultures, the misunderstood denizens of the sky.

We rounded up our box of losers, which was made heavier by one of my two copies of Literary Theory and Criticism, threw in some of Noah's old anime, and headed to our used book/dvd/music emporium, Edward McKay (which I frequently refer to as Edwin McCain, a joke that Noah hates). The dude behind the drop-off counter accepted the large Pampers Cruisers Size 4 box and told us they'd put our name on the whiteboard after they were done, in about 30 minutes.

For the next half hour, we followed Ethan around the store and prevented him from

• Eating one of the paper section signs, incidentally marked "Star Wars/Trekkie"
• Crushing the shop's entire stock of granola bars
• Rearranging the copious cd collection
• Taking DVD cases of the shelves and throwing them
• Disorganizing the many thousands of books on the lower shelves throughout the shop

When our name was finally posted, we walked to the front where another dude handed us back our box with several items that they didn't want either due to condition or overstock. And then he told us that, for what they did take, they'd be paying us $102 in cash.

At that moment, Noah and I froze in the manner of people who don't often receive medium or even small amounts of money from sources other than our employers, and even those monies aren't all that impressive. I glanced at Noah with hard eyes as he attempted to control the joyous contortion of his facial muscles. A quick readjustment of Ethan masked my ventriloquist-style mumble, Be cool, through clenched teeth.

Noah calmly accepted the cash, turned some of it back over for some purchases we wanted to make*, and quickly headed toward the parking lot, where we did a happy dance to an impromptu air loosely titled "Huzzah!"

This is such a turn of good luck, it's hard to imagine. We high-tailed it outta there before they realized their mistake. We're still excited. In fact, Noah sent me a text today with just two words: "102 dollars!"

And I still even have two copies of Waverly and three of What to Expect the First Year.

I know this is daring, and perhaps presumptuous, but I'm going to go ahead and say that I believe this could be the year's first Christmas miracle.

*Just because I know you're going to want to know what we bought, I'll tell you. Battlestar Galactica Season 2.5, Battlestar Galactica: Razor, and Firefly. Go ahead and mock us in all our dorky glory. Two words: 102 DOLLARS.