The Madness of The Move

Ok. So, we're here. And how we got here requires quite the story, so just settle in. Go to the bathroom. Get a beverage, a snack and a pillow, because, y'all. It's been crazy.

Thursday: Loading the Truck Day

I felt quite certain that we would have NO help in loading the truck. For I am a hardened cynic who imagines the worst of every situation.

My mom was going to be in Grandma-mode with the Boy all day so that we could load the truck without dropping any of the thousands of heavy boxes on his head. And she did FABULOUS--many thanks, mom!

I dropped off Chris at the truck rental place and headed home to get started with the PILES everywhere. My sister and her daughter (my rockin' 15 year old niece) came down and worked their tails off for the hour that they had to spare and just after they left, lo, choirs of angels descended and HELP showed up! In the form of some friends of ours from church. And let me just say that those three men are going to Heaven for SURE. We all worked ourselves to a sweaty mess and the truck was loaded in 3.5 hours. My dad was the AWESOME loadmaster--that man can load absolutely anything.

Chris and I obtained pizza and our child and returned home bone tired. But the apartment was empty and clean (he and I took turns cleaning) and it was nice to see all the floor again. The Boy fell asleep in the car and unlike usual he didn't wake up when I pulled him out of his carseat, but instead, curled up into my body like he hasn't done since he was very small. I reveled in the feel of his sturdy little body heavy against mine in our home this last time. We put him to bed and showered and crashed on the floor for one last night.

My friend Mona sent me this amazing email and since she reads this blog but NEVER comments--you all don't know how wise she is--I'm going to quote her. She wrote, "I just wanted to say that I hope you and Chris enjoy your last night in your apartment and in NC. I know it’s a bit bittersweet for you, but take it all in. In response to your blog from last night, I’m totally a keeper of things that have special memory of a place or time in my life and I’ve always appreciated when I took a moment at the last night in a place to reflect and see not just who you were when you got there compared to where you are now, but the life that happened in between all of that."

I think that's why it hurt so much to leave. The Boy happened in that apartment--from the very beginning.

Friday: Moving Day

I cried as I picked him up that morning and took that last, long walk down the stairs--all I could think of was, "This was the walk I took when I was in labor. And this is where I had to stop for a minute because of a contraction. And these were the stairs I took one at a time when we brought him home. And I would take this walk around the building when he was new and loved to walk outside. And...And...And..."

We climbed into the van, shook hands with our favorite maintenance men, hugged each other and drove away.

I need to take a moment to share with you all the awesomeness of my parents. My parents volunteered to drive down with me so that I wouldn't have to drive for 8 hours in the van, ALONE with an 11 month old child. My mom rode in the van with me and my dad followed behind us in case anything happened. My mom continuously entertained the Boy and she and I shed some tears as we left North Carolina.

The Arrival: HATE

We got here right on time. It was sweltering. All three of us sauntered in to the rental office to find Chris there, signing the lease. We handed over large sums of money. I signed the bazillion forms as well. We picked up keys and card passes and set up entry codes and then trotted off to our new home.

And what did we find? A cool, clean, inviting open space for the Boy to crawl around in? NO. Not a bit of it.

When we looked at the apartment it had construction debris all through it, but the woman who sold us the lease assured us that it would be cleaned prior to our moving in.

Yeah. Not so much.

To say that I was LIVID with RAGE is an understatement. And since I've run out of adjectives to describe the experience, here's a bit from the letter that I've since submitted to the property manager:

Upon our arrival on June 26th, and after having paid all of our fees and prorated rent, we entered the apartment and found, to our great displeasure, that it had NOT been cleaned. I returned to the leasing office and spoke with the assistant manager about the situation. She informed me, that though she was very sorry, that she "had three move-ins that day and was unable to do anything" at all to rectify the situation. Though, how having "three move-ins that day" somehow justifies the other 18 days notice she had prior to our arrival, I have yet to understand.

Since our arrival included the aforementioned 11 month old child, I proceeded to clean the apartment myself. The debris is what one would expect from new construction. There were bits of stripped wires on the floor, there was dirt, grim and filth; there was the chalky dust of sheetrock cover all surfaces--vertical and horizontal; there were urine stains and mildew in both toilets and rust stains in the bath tubs; there were globs of sealant in both bath tubs and cardboard in the drains; there was sawdust in the cabinets, random remnant screws where the appliances had been installed; there were paint splatters on the carbet, which when pulled can come up and be eaten by a teething 11 month old child; all of the laminate floors were scuffed, and there was some sort of moldy growth around the windows. Over the period of two hours, my husband and I cleaned the apartment to the point where we felt that our child could crawl on the floor without detriment to his well-being, though he was still filthy when I bathed him for the night. It was only after eight hours of driving and two hours of combined cleaning that we were abel to begin to unload our moving truck.

Yeah. I'm STILL MAD. The property manager came by, once when we were out and left a note, and then again on Monday. She was VERY apologetic and has offered us generous recompense, but STILL. 2 HOURS of cleaning! The place was knee deep in FILTH. I have never been so angry in my life. (I know that I should be grateful. We do have a great place, it's new, it's quiet, it's big and open and spacious and there are plenty of people in this world who have no home. And now that it's CLEAN, I'm starting to be grateful for it, but man, I was MAD. And HOT. And TIRED. I'm working on it...)

Then, THEN! My mom took the Boy into his bedroom to play while me and Chris and my DAD (my awesome dad) began to slowly, slow-ly unload the truck. And people, the HEAT, oh, it was hot. And then, THEN! My awesome Father-in-law and Brother-in-law (who heard part of my RAGE with Chris whilst on the phone) showed up and took over the work of unloading the truck while me and my dad took a break. They were FAST. And AWESOME. And brought a big ol' furniture mover thing for Chris' cedar chest (which was loaded with all his Civil War stuff, and it was HEAVY--all caps).

My parents went to stay in a hotel and Chris and I worked at shifting furniture and boxes until our apartment began to resemble an apartment rather than a storage unit. We went to bed around midnight, after a swim in our giant bath tub.

Saturday: Please, someone deliver me from this MADNESS

My parents joined us again. My dad has a bunch of stuff from my Grandma's days on Guam (this particular Saturday is was Japanes blown-glass fish floats--pictures to follow) and he was going to try to sell some of them on Jekyll Island (which is fairly close to us), so off he went. My dad is ALWAYS up for an adventure. Anyway, Mom stayed and helped me to gather my courage to face My Kitchen. My mom has unpacked 2 of my kitchens. She's great at it and I hate it...I love having my kitchen neat and organized, but I HATE the thought of doing it from scratch. So she and I worked in the kitchen while Chris did other stuff. We put together the Boy's room, we set up our office, and sorted out all of my book boxes. We did MORE cleaning. We started some laundry. But with my mom's help, we managed to get the kitchen set up.

My parents left on Saturday. The Boy and I walked them out. It's hard to be left behind. The Boy cried most of the rest of the day. His gums are purple on both sides of his front teeth and his Grandparents are his favorite playmates. He ran a low-grade fever and I put him to bed early.

Chris went to a Vietnamese restaurant not far from our apartment and obtained some fairly awesome Vietnamese food for dinner. I went to SchmallMart and schlepped up and down the aisles to acquire things we had not seen fit to move and to finally buy some groceries.

Again we stumbled into bed around 11 and fell into fitfull sleep. The apartment is quiet but bright, even at night. I've put up some curtains and that's helped, but it's still hard to sleep in a new place.

We've been to Jacksonville to try to find Costoc, unsuccessfully. But that might warrant it's own post. But then maybe not. An hour down there, and hour lost looking for the place, and an hour home. All with a teething child. FUNTASTIC does not begin to describe it.

I haven't begun to process my actual feelings about the move or being in this new place. I'm vaguely grateful that my parents made me do hard things. I have this bit of hardness about me that enables me to put my head down and go to work and NOT think about anything else but the task immediately before me. I'm grateful for that bit of hardness now. If I can't be happy, I can at least be productive.