I read somewhere that moving is one of the most stressful life events you can put yourself and your family through. It’s actually the most stressful as of late, above divorce and having kids, according to SWNS digital.
We’ve moved twice in one year, selling our house during the height of a pandemic, and we’re not done, yet! We have about two more moves to go by the end of this summer to get to our new build in Twin Falls, ID.
At some point, as you’re wrestling with boxes, tape, and absentee friends, you start forgetting what put a bee up your ass to leave in the first place. You also feel like setting fire to everything you own, plus the home — however temporary — to go with it. To hell with your dead mother-in-law’s inherited Hummel figures and amber cocktail glasses. Or that ungodly, goddamned puke-green hutch nobody wants, because it’s bigger than Godzilla, and heavy as a motherfucker.
You know…the one you talked yourself into buying to house all those useless (but sentimental) tchotchkes hoarders love so much.
My husband Ed decided to schedule two days to pack, load up, and get the hell out of Dodge. Yeah, I know… I wanted to kill him, too.
Ed — in all his short-sighted wisdom — enlisted (forced) our only son James, 19, and his unsuspecting teenage friends to do most of the grunt work this past Saturday. All day Saturday. They wound up standing around mostly, waiting until he could figure out a way to force square pegs into round holes in his max-capacity U-Haul, like some Blockout King.
Well, he failed, okay? By Sunday night, our son was close to a nervous breakdown (over a Sleep Number bed he had to singlehandedly break down) and I was ready to check into a hotel for a few weeks until they were really ready to go.
We left some things behind, of course: two office chairs, several tables, area rugs, and a cabinet Ed painstakingly built to house his expanding stereo collection — all so he could organize his electronics/musical gear/easy listening man cave crap before our first move.
We drove from Seattle to Boise in two days, stopping overnight in hotels, to avoid sending us over the edge.
We’re only now getting our heads above water, with much more to unpack and set up (off to Lowe’s for a four-pronged washer/dryer outlet).
But the world doesn’t give a damn. We still have to sign, notarize, and email job contracts, attend Zoom work meetings, work around the clock to edit/proof PDFs on deadline, sleep and eat.
The only saving grace throughout this nightmare has been the food. Everyone’s off their diet, in a gluttonous free-for-all, eating whatever whenever.
That’s really the best way to get to know a new town, meet new people, possibly make new friends (preferably those who offer to help you move).
We’ve discovered amazing food along the way: Culver’s frozen custard, Lulu’s pizza and sushi, farm-to-table American fusion at Yellow Brick Cafe, Kneaders’ scratch-made, wholesome goodness, Idaho Joe’s everything.
I’ll be 400 pounds by the end of this second to last move, but if I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go with my Butter Burger, crinkle fries, and salted caramel concrete. Because there’s a table on our front yard that won’t fit through the entry way, the Internet won’t work in this rental, the blinds won’t raise, and…