Moving complaint with lots of hyphens.

No matter the motivation, moving is a bitch. Travis is out of town (on his birthday, no less). My 17-year-old brother-in-law (NICK!) visited from Atlanta to hang-out with my 8-year-old son and to help me pack. Before he left on Wednesday, he helped me unload both attics. My dining room is full of boxes to go through. I’ve managed to peak in them and scatter them around the house (I’m supposed to be going through them, getting rid of 75% and packing the remaining 25% neatly and logically--I would just throw it all out, but I have a tendency to stash birth certificates and savings bonds with 5-year-old junk mail.) Three hours ago, I got a call saying the appraiser will be here tomorrow at 10:00am. Anyone want to come help me put this shit back in the attic?