Moving Day

I have been loathe to post anything and push the lovely photo of my best girls down the page, especially given the fact that I am missing them something fierce right now.  My heart aches to text all of them and meet for a girl's lunch at the Smokehouse, just one last time.  But that would require shifting of the universe and isn't going to happen today.  Plus, lots of incredibly funny and crazy stuff has happened in a week and a half, and the show must go on. 

I am going to play catch up just a bit and tell you about our move and the drive down to Dallas. 

We have been planning this move for months.  Since about mid-November, we have known when we were leaving.  So, about five days before the actual moving day, it was not necessarily a happy surprise when The Husband came to me sheepishly, proverbial hat in his hand.  He had had a meeting come up, one that was important enough for him to ask me if he could attend it. 

No, I am not a tyrant who requires the man of the family to clear all work meetings with my busy schedule of nap-taking and shopping sprees.

This particular meeting happened to fall on, you know, the EXACT day we were supposed to be packing the truck.  As in, the day that he and I would be physically loading all our belongings into the back of a U-Haul.  And with him potentially in a very important meeting, that would leave me and my scrawny t-rex arms to load our heavy belongings alone.   

Since that wasn't going to happen, I told him, fine, you can go to your precious meeting, but you are hiring me some movers.   

He didn't bat an eye, good man that he is.

It was a win-win for everyone. 

Movers were hired at such a ridiculously cheap rate that we both kicked ourselves for not doing that in the first place. 

What did leave me slightly in the lurch, however, was the picking up of the moving truck and driving it to the ghetto for loading.  I was really, really, really (did I mention really?) nervous to drive the big truck.  (see aforementioned t-rex arms) 

My friend Maren had offered to drive me to pick up the truck, and mentioned earlier in the week that her husband could possibly help with the driving.  We found out the day before what our pick-up time would be, and, unfortunately, her husband was going to be busy with meetings.  Making peace with my new career as a truck driver, I bottled the anxiety up as much as I could.  I watched YouTube videos on how to make wide turns.  I visualized being able to do it, but dreaded the act itself.  

When she came to pick me up the morning of the move, she told me she had a surprise for me. 

The surprise?  Her husband had rescheduled his entire morning to be able to help me. 


It was a spontaneous explosion of tears, wracking sobs, relief, and overwhelming love at the kindness they would provide to me.  I have never quite literally BURST into tears like I did then.  It was uncontrollable and a whole lot more than just tearing up out of joy.  It was hysterics. 

I can never tell them just how much that meant. 

So instead of crashing the U-Haul and sweating it out while playing a giant game of Tetris with moving boxes, I watched others drive my truck and sat on the couch with my friend Mindy while men did all the work for me.  It was lovely.   

Who needs feminism, anyway?  I'm all for being a damsel in distress on moving day. 

What was not lovely, however, were the goodbyes.  An uglier scene has never graced the fifth grade hall before.  Crowds of girls gathered around my Hannah and sobbed and sobbed.  I'm sure the teachers were thrilled. 

I held it (mostly) together as we said -- not goodbye -- but see you later -- to our peeps.  Getting in the car and actually driving away was another story.  There were ugly tears. 

And then we drove off to start the rest of our life... 

Stay tuned for tomorrow's edition:  My arrest in Oklahoma.