Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing—Benjamin Franklin

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... just me.

We survived. It is official. We haven’t moved everything in yet, but that isn’t on a deadline so I’m not as stressed about that. The whole week of frenzied moving extravaganza went something like this:
    DAY 1: Find out that we’re moving
Get to work finding boxes, moving supplies, and figure out how to do it all
Look at all my stuff
Start taping and boxing like a mad woman (throwing out anything that isn’t absolutely essential to life and/or sentimental and never to be replaced)
    DAY 2: Discover Little can now pull himself up to the standing position all on his own. Hooray!
Start where we left off yesterday, blinking back tears and irritation from what I think are just allergies at first, but turn out to be an eye infection
Emergency call Bryce for medicine to hold it at bay until I can go to see a doctor
Pack, pack, pack
Look at the clock—2:00AM.
PANIC! And then go to sleep (without Bryce who didn’t make it to bed until 3:30AM)
    DAY 3: Wake up with the death (and not just the tired death…the sniffly, sneezy, eek death)
Curse the universe for a minute for combining against me
Pull myself out of bed, pump myself full of whatever medicine I can find (and no, I am not usually so desperate nor so quick in my drug consumption, but extreme measures…), and get to work avoiding my bedroom like the plague because there sits an extremely comfortable bed which is calling to me like a siren attempting to lure me away from the never ending list of what has to be done
Box up stuff
Deal with a few disasters (which are only disasters because I am involved)
Bryce comes home and says without being bidden, “Whoa Honey! You’ve gotten so much done!”
Panic a little less and realize this might just be doable
    DAY 4, 5, and 6 went something like this:
Some seeming disaster or another
Box… You get the idea…
    DAY 7 and 8: Finish boxing, Hallelujah!
Sit back and realize that all my panicking was for naught and be more grateful than I even thought possible that they are not requiring us to clean the apartment due to the fact that they are renovating it anyway.
…NOTE that even though I didn’t add those parts in, I was really taking care of Little amidst all the chaos. Promise!...

By the end of all the madness we decided to have a celebratory “House cooling party” in our box covered abode because everyone always has house warming parties when they get into a new place, but never a house cooling party when they leave. So we said farewell to the squirrels in style (sparkling cider, crappy Chinese takeout, plastic dishware…doesn’t get much better than that).
Thus, we now are officially out of our old place and into the new and are living on Seymour Rd (We may or may not be planning to purchase a carnivorous plant so that we can say, “FEED ME, SEYMOUR!” all the time).
My conclusion to all of this? I am secretly super woman (sans the leotard suit). The End. 


Torrey said...

I've known you were superwoman all along!!! Very impressive indeed, my girl--and all while Everett was honing his new get-into-things-even-better skills. Well done, well done! Hopefully soon you can just RELAX!!!! (And we love you, don't forget!)

Lauren said...

You ARE superwoman! Way to go! I'm very impressed. Moving really is the worst so hats off to you for surviving it--and with a baby no less. I hope you're enjoying your new place.

Shannon said...

This story would have been even more interesting if you had been in a leotard suit, but I suppose we can't have it all.

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