A big pile of boxes, please, and some tape

And because I couldn't possibly find one more thing to stress out about, I visited my apartment manager today to find out when our lease here is up. Come to find out, the lease itself expires on March 31, and given the 60-day move-out notice required, we need to make a decision on moving somewhere by then end of January. Of course, the manager had no idea how my monthly rent would change right now, and I'll have to wait until the middle of the month. Thanks for nothing helpful, jerks. I'd love to know how much they intend to bend us over for to stay here. But of course, I don't want to stay here. I want a house, townhouse or condo. I want a grassy knoll for my dog to sniff around whenever he wants. I want a dining room and a decent-sized living room. I want a kitchen large enough for the four of us to occupy it peacefully.
There are a couple in our price range available near here, so I guess I've got a new purpose to my routines this month. Ugh. Moving. Boxes. Crap. And not to mention the extremely "helpful" one-year-old that I've never had to deal with when boxing up all our stuff.