oh, fuck, I am an Aunt

Tina's recent wedding brought not only a new brother into the family, but also his two children by his own previous marriage - Jordan and Kaylee. I believe Kaylee is about 10, and Jordan will be turning 8 on August 8. I know this because Tina left me a voicemail reminding me of it.

I have never been an aunt before. I get the distinct feeling that as an aunt and moreover an adult one I am supposed to be somewhat involved in the children's lives, at least to the point of sending gifts on holidays. But I have also never had to deal with eight-year-old boys before, at least not since I was an eight-year-old girl. I don't know this kid at ALL - I've only met him twice. He likes video games but they are trying to steer him away from them because he would spend too much time with them.

I don't know what to do for his birthday, and I know I have to do something. Help?

(no subject)

Bookshelf: Empty.
Movie shelf: Empty.
Desk: Empty.
Shelving unit in bedroom: Empty.
Closet: Empty save for a suit and a couple of jackets.

Still to go:
Kitchen
Area under dining room table
Electronics and appliances

We have a lot of furniture between us. A queen-size bed with box spring, mattress and metal frame. Two desks, one wooden, one metal. One sofa, quite large. A dining room table with three leaves and eight or nine chairs. Two large rolling office chairs. A dresser. A metal bookcase. A small wooden bookcase. Two large wooden bookcases. A small TV stand. A torchiere. A coatrack. Two computers. A record rack (made for actual records), currently employed as a coffee table.

Already we've filled nine paper-cases and several smaller boxes, and we haven't touched the dishes yet, nor is Justin's room packed. My clothes are, though, except for the shoes.

I have a huge bag of stuff I'm donating to Goodwill, mostly because it doesn't fit. Pants that are two sizes too small - if, as I hope, I get that small again, I'll just buy new pants. I don't care. A cute little business suit that would look wonderful on a smaller person but which, on my largely rounded ass, turns almost pornographic in its shortness. Several button-front shirts that gap horribly over my boobs. May they benefit somebody somewhere.

We have to shift all this stuff using my Cherokee, Justin's F150, and Bob's-his-uncle's trailer (hopefully pulled behind another SUV, driven by Bob or by Justin's father, whom I cannot bring myself to call Bill). I don't know if it's going to happen. It might take two trips.