My wife had to leave town Friday morning in order to join her siblings and undergo the painful process of sorting through her mother’s belongings. This left me tending to the kids for 3 straight days, until her return Monday am. I had the easier side of the deal and wouldn’t trade places with her for anything.
As a surprise to her, and a proactive effort to reduce the costs of moving and accelerate the process as well, some friends joined me on Saturday and we hauled everything out of our garage and over to the new place. This might sound trivial, but our garage has, since we first moved out of the old place in 2005, served as our own little ‘self storage’, unit complete with rows of shelves and stacked isles of boxes. As I mentioned in a prior post, the garage looked like the warehouse from final scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. We completely filled a 14′ rental truck, which, by the way, was rented from a place who’s staff’s “born to kill” tattoos are not only art, but they’re name tags as well. It was somewhat nostalgic, because I’d helped each of the friends move previously, but many years ago, when we didn’t complain about the distance required to step up into the truck aggravating our sciatic nerve.
Along with spending Friday organized and preparing the garage as much as I could, the kids playing on the front lawn and driveway as daddy tried to non-chaulantly hide many of their old toys in the “Garage Sale” stack, I spent the day Saturday loading and unloading, Saturday evening back at the new house trying to put things in their places in order to make room for the rest of the stuff to come, and Sunday working on packing assorted belongings. Add to this that my son had a fever on Saturday and required some extra attention, and I’d have to save that seeing my wife drive up this morning was like seeing a passing ship on the horizon from the bow of a partially submerged life boat.
