This morning, on day three of our morning trek to school, after having dropped off Little Lady for her first day, I am at Starbucks. I often wondered who sits inside Starbucks and types on their laptop and, now, I think I know. Me, and people like me, who have nowhere to go, and like free Wi-Fi.  Thank you, Starbucks.

Since chaotic circumstances put the blog into a state of silence after our move, I thought I would take you back to the joy that was moving.  You know, a sort of learn from my mistakes kind of thing (or, a laugh at my inefficiency kind of thing, you make the call).

First of all, I don’t know about you, but I find buying and selling houses to be a contentious process. No matter how nice the people might be, I always end up hating them. That even goes for the seller of our first house, the son, who lived over a thousand miles away, who was responsible for settling his father’s estate, whom I never even met. Ok, so maybe hates a little harsh, but you know what I mean, don’t you?

Because my husband doesn’t.  When I told him that I didn’t want to go to closing, he said, why not?  When I expressed the above feelings to him, he was genuinely perplexed.  He just didn’t get it.

Whatever.  All I can say is, I’m glad I followed my instincts, because I was spot on on this one.

Ok, can I just digress for a moment.  For someone like me, who has a hard time carrying on a conversation while other conversations are going on around me, Starbucks is not  the ideal blogging location.  I can multitask in a lot of situations, writing (or reading, for that matter) is not one of them.  The problem, I can’t stop eavesdropping on the ladies behind me, who are dressed for the office, but not in an office, but obviously conducting some sort of business from dual phones and laptops.  I have this weird compulsion to know what they’re doing.  And then there’s the issue of the bathroom, of which there is only one, which is making using it, difficult.   Every time I get ready to pack up and head there, someone else beats me to it.  What the hell, people? Go home. I think as soon as I’m done my coffee, I need to beat feet out of here and head to the library.  Come to think of it, why aren’t Starbucks partnering with libraries?

Ok, back to the story.  Well, you already know my husband’s desire to turn moving into a one man party, which meant that by the end of the actual moving day, he was pretty much delirious.  I wasn’t far behind.

As far as I can tell, here’s where things went wrong, we definitely did not have enough boxes or packing supplies. Who cares that we made thirty trips back and forth to U-Haul and Home Depot in the weeks prior, it still was not enough.  And forget the movers, besides tape, they didn’t bring much else with them, which I found strange.  Their explanation, you said you would have everything packed up.  And, we almost did, except for the boxes thing, but the real problem, I didn’t count on them working so fast.  You see, my past experiences we’re with movers being paid by the corporation my husband works for.  It turns out that it takes them much longer, you know, with putting one item in each box and such. You know what I’m saying?

And of course, we should have started earlier, like way earlier, but seriously, I really didn’t think this move was going to pan out until the very end.  But the wait and see attitude did nothing for timing trash day, recycling, or hazardous waste collection.  This is especially important when you have a garage full of hazardous materials.

Beyond those (two really major things), I’m not really sure what I could have done differently.  In all honesty, to have done a better job I would have had to have way less non-essential crap (is that redundant?), been way more organized (hopeless), and let someone else do the work. In other words, I needed to be someone other than myself.

Is Starbucks a public company? If so, I’m investing.  My God, the line never stops. Are my asides distracting?  Welcome to my brain.

Anyway, we worked late into the night before the movers came, me calling it quits around eleven, my husband, staying up to who knows when.  But we awoke bright and early on moving day with giddiness and determination, ready to rock it, but not before making my coffee and broiling some toast (since I had already packed the toaster).  Why mention the toast?  Trust me, it’s not because I think you care about my diet.  I mention it because I think using the broiler to make my toast shorted out the oven, which brings me to issue number one with settlement, a broken oven.

Issue two, our overzealous, but yet, not overzealous enough, notary, who oversaw the signing of our documents and deed, but did not sign one of the  documents he was supposed to.

Issue three, the shed, minus the snow blower, of course. The same shed that hadn’t been properly cleared from the previous owners, and yet, still managed to hold some of our crap.  The shed that held the still in the wrapper snow blower, that we didn’t “forget”.  Yet, somehow, we “forgot” to clean out the rest.

I hate to say I told you so, but I told him.  Yes, I did.  I told my husband the shed needed to be cleaned out.  He wouldn’t listen.  Eight hours of packing and filling a cargo van with trash to take to the dump, so our new owners would not have to pull up to a curb full of trash (which in the end, even with a dump run, was unavoidable), had pretty much wiped him out.  The twelve sodas he drank before noon didn’t help much, either.

By the end of the day, I was done harping about it, and he was done listening.  So, I said, I guess just shut the door and hope they don’t look in there until after closing.  No such luck.

Issue four, what they called the closet off the bathroom, needed to be cleared.  This was just perplexing.  I walked through that closet fifteen times before leaving.  It was empty.  Except what they really meant was the attic space off the master bedroom closet.  Oh, you mean the closet that I made my husband tape up and put a shoe rack in front of after we discovered we had flying squirrels?  We never even used that closet.  The problem, the people before us, did, and never cleaned it out.  We never cleaned it out, either.  Oops.  Honestly, I didn’t even know there was anything in there.  But there was, and they wanted it out.  My realtor took care of that one for me.  She wanted to know how in six years I never cleaned out that part of the attic (and she did spot something dead with wings). Can you say embarrassing?

So, after packing for what felt like forty eight hours straight, and not arriving at my mom’s until after dark on moving day, my husband had to drive back the very next day and empty all the crap out of the shed.  He also had to meet the bitchy seller, who wanted to know why there was a satellite dish on the roof.  Yea, you guessed it, that wasn’t ours either.

One final picture before we go.


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