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It would take a forklift to get me out of my house. I recently wrote that my house is my present day-dream house, so it would have to be something huge, something earth shattering, to get me to leave, let alone pack. Oh, to think of packing again, now that is a whole other issue. It was the year 1994, the year my daughter was born. That year, we moved three times and I mean packing everything, three different times, in the space of one year. I had a new baby, a toddler and we got a puppy in the midst of all the craziness. That fact alone is a humongous factor in my steadfast refusal to ever move again. If we ever get the future dream house in the southwest of France, we will be purchasing everything brand new over there because I refuse to pack this house up and ship it. The children can use this house while their father and I enjoy our new dream house in France. I think that would be very fair for everyone.