Moving, Part 2 - The Drive

Once I took that final picture of our first home and choked back a few tears, we were off.  And we were quite the caravan.

I was in the Trail Blazer with both kids (ages 6 and 4) in the back, and both dogs (a Carolina Shepherd and a Golden Lab puppy) in the very back.  The kids had a plethora of toys and video game stuff and pillows and stuffed animals piled all around them.  I had a ton of snack food (of which we surprisingly hardly ate) in the front with me.  There were suitcases and coats piled around the dogs' crate.  And finally, there was an ice chest and a couple other things strapped to one of those trailer hitch platforms.  Not because we needed that stuff with the car, but because those last few things wouldn't fit in the moving truck.

Ah, yes.  The moving truck.  Dan had originally tried to get the 26-foot truck, but it wasn't available so we settled for reserving the 24-foot truck.  We go to pick it up (after discovering that they had moved locations and didn't bother to update their address) and there was a 26-footer there that they rented to us for no additional charge!  And thank god.  We totally would have had to have rented a pull-behind trailer or something otherwise, because every last square inch of that truck was full.  And we were even leaving behind the refrigerator and washer and dryer!  So Dan was driving the truck, and his companion was the cat.  And I say companion in the very loosest of definitions.  She was in a tiny carrier, and meowed for hours.  It was literally her first time in a carrier, and the last time she traveled in a car was to the vet to get fixed.  Our dogs' vet recommended Benedryl to calm some pet nerves, but that did no good whatsoever.  All it did was traumatize me (because the only way she'd take the pill was for me to just force-feed it to her) and make her drool cat snot for about an hour.

The puppy wasn't much better ... he gets anxiety in the car as well, and his comes out as horrible yelping (like someone is trying to kill him) and drooling.  Like.A.Faucet.  At the first stop, he was soaking wet from his chin, to half-way down his belly, and the entirety of his front legs.  But at least that was temporary.  He did calm down after a while and did much better the rest of the trip (unlike the cat).  The crate they were in, however, rattled the whole drive.  THE WHOLE DRIVE.  I even stopped three times in the first two hours trying to wedge blankets and towels around it to get it to shut up.  But alas, it did not.

And then there was the DVD player.  It was a wonderful Christmas gift for the kids four years ago, but it's now four years old, and my SUV is nine-years-old and not exactly the smoothest ride anymore.  Every time I hit the slightest bump (or a kid looked at it wrong), it would skip back to the beginning of the disc.  Not the beginning of the movie, mind you - the beginning of the disc.  The kids watched (and I listened to) the same five previews before Despicable Me 2 about seven times, and never actually got to the end of the movie.  I thought maybe if the boy held it (the girl's could stay strapped to the headrest - one player, two screens) ... but no.  I don't know why I thought a 6-year-old could stay still for that long.  So I held it myself.  In my lap, with the DVD case on top of the screen so I wouldn't be tempted to actually watch it while I was driving (and believe me ... I was tempted).  That actually worked for an entire movie!  Then we had to stop and pay a toll and I became increasingly paranoid about how it would look for me to be holding a DVD screen while driving.  I finally got the brilliant idea to put a pillow on the boy's lap, and the DVD player on the pillow (all the while instructing him to NOT touch it).

We finally, FINALLY make it to Hays, Kansas, where we're going to stay the night.  What took Dan nine hours when it was just him in his car, took us over twelve hours.  The kids fall asleep instantaneously.  I finally get a shower, and then for some reason, can't sleep.  Part of the problem is the puppy.  He'd been cooped up in the crate in the car all day with only a few stops so he was Awake with a capital A.  Finally at 3:30am I had had enough (that is, I yelled at the dog and burst into tears), and my wonderful husband tried his best to calm the puppy so I could get some sleep.  By the time the kids got up in the morning, I had slept maybe three hours, but was otherwise feeling fine.

Day two of the drive went much, much better.  Except for the fact that it was boring.  There is nothing even remotely interesting in Kansas, or the East half of Colorado, for that matter.  I found myself wondering how in the world people made that same trek on foot and in covered wagons not that long ago.

I also started thinking about the time change.  I was born in Oklahoma, so I was born in the Central Time Zone.  I have lived in Colorado before, and even New Mexico for a short while, but each time moved back to somewhere in the Central Time Zone (Dallas or Little Rock).  So, essentially, I was borrowing an hour each time I lived there, and had to return it upon leaving.

But this time I don't intend to leave.  This hour I'm gaining is mine.  MINE!  I am not giving it back.

And when we gained that hour, we passed this sign that always made me smile.

At the first sight of the Rocky Mountains, I started to get giddy.  When we got to Denver and could REALLY see the mountains, I started to get excited.  When we took the exit off of I-70 onto Evergreen Parkway, I burst into tears.

I was finally home.

Moving, Part 1 - The Actual Packing

I was totally okay with procrastinating.  I thought it was so funny that I wrote my previous post about it.  But let me now assure you:

Procrastination is no laughing matter.

By the time I finally got my butt in gear and started packing, it was seriously too late.  I thought I would have that whole last week before Dan came home (he was already in Colorado for three weeks before coming home to celebrate Christmas and get us moved), but I was so busy with other stuff that it was really only a weekend of packing.

I thought I did really good!  Fifteen boxes packed, and half of them were those horrid breakables like stemware and china I never use but won't ever get rid of.  That shit's really hard to pack!  And like, it made a huge pile in my living room!

Besides, I had farewell parties and kid school parties to attend.  I had last minute Christmas presents to buy.  I had to take both dogs to the vet for their booster shots.  I had to deal with our termite company.  I had to get the oil changed in my car.  I had to get a haircut.  I had to assist my son in losing his first tooth, for crying out loud!

By the time we picked Dan up at the airport, I had had three weeks to pack up the house and all I had accomplished were those fifteen measly boxes.

Fifteen sounds like a lot ... until you realize that everything you own takes up EVERY SQUARE INCH of a 26-foot moving truck.

So the next day, a Saturday, we hit the ground running.  Non-stop packing all up until it was time to leave for Christmas Eve dinner at Granny's on Tuesday.  At this point (and until 2 days after we move in to our new home) I'm on a schedule of only showering every 4 days or so.

I enjoyed Christmas in moments, but I really feel like I missed out on the whole Christmas season this year.  So much so that I forgot to water the Christmas tree.  For the entire time Dan was gone.  By the time we took it down it was a good 6 inches shorter, and there were more pine needles on the floor than on the damn tree.  I totally blame Dan for that one.  He always waters the Christmas tree and should have reminded me that I needed to do that lest we create and incredible fire hazard.

I did, however, manage to move Jingles, our elf on the shelf, every single night (with the help of a recurring alarm on my phone).

So, to recap:

• Dan leaves for Colorado the day after Thanksgiving.
• I do nothing but watch Downton Abbey for two weeks (oh, and move Jingles).
• I spend one weekend packing 15 boxes.
• I spend one week doing lots of totally necessary things - none of them packing.
• Dan comes home and we pack (but don't shower) for 4 days.
• We allow ourselves 30 hours to clean up and celebrate Christmas.
• We spend the next 30 hours loading the moving truck and cleaning the house.

And during all this time the Christmas tree was not watered, and I randomly burst into tears.

Especially when we said goodbye to our house.

It was a great house.  Our first house.  When we bought it in 2006 it was just the two of us.  Seven years later we have a son, a daughter, two dogs, and a cat.  I painted every room in that house to make it ours.  It was home.  And as exciting as this move is, the thought of making a new home was just too much to bear at that moment.

Productive Procrastination

Today was a very busy day, but not abnormal for a Monday 'round these parts.

Got the kids to school, myself to the orthodontist (just got my braces off last week - yay!), grocery shopping done, caught up on my household finances, cancelled the bug guy, cancelled the lawn guys, set an appointment for a termite inspection, set an appointment for another kind of inspection at my Gynecologist (let's just say it's nothing serious and leave it at that) ... PLUS all my regular mom stuff like feeding people and animals and shooing the puppy away from the Christmas tree (and the trash can, and the cat litter box) and even had time for a little pre-dinner cocktail and appetizer!

Okay, so it was cheap chardonnay left over from Thanksgiving and a bowl full of Jalapeno Cheetos.

And it was delicious.

What haven't I done yet?

Pack.

I hate, HATE packing.  This is our garage right now.

It's full of crap we don't use often but can't get rid of.  It was supposed to be my staging area for stuff I packed up in the house.  You know, so that we're not actually living in a nightmare of boxes.  But I am totally putting it off until tomorrow.

Right now I've got Downton Abbey and a second glass of wine calling my name.

After I move Jingles, our elf.  Crap.  I thought I was done being productive today.

A New Adventure, Twenty Years Later

I grew up in Evergreen, Colorado.  My parents moved us (my younger brother and I) December of my kindergarten year.  They then moved us to Little Rock, Arkansas halfway through my 7th grade year, and I feel like I've been trying to get back ever since.

It was a magical childhood.  Seriously.  Magical.  You don't have to have much money to have an epic snowball fight.  Or build forts in the woods.  Or visit any number of state parks, all less than an hour from home.

We took at least one camping trip every year.  And we didn't rough it.  We would stay at a KOA campground someplace in the state near something totally cool (which was everywhere) because it was way cheaper than staying in a hotel.  And so much more fun!  They have swimming pools and outdoor movie theaters and playgrounds ... all sorts of things to keep my brother and I occupied.  We went horseback riding, whitewater rafting, mountain biking, and so much more.  There is just so much to do there!

I loved my school.  I loved living up a dirt road on the mountain.  Our first house was teeny tiny, up a bunch of scary switchbacks, and had a million dollar view from the deck.  Our second house was basically a double-wide manufactured home sitting on top of a garage and a basement.  We made great friends in that neighborhood, had a half a mile of woods (straight up) behind our house to explore, and creek about a quarter mile through some woods and fields in front of our house that was just so peaceful to hear.  My brother and I did some serious exploring, and our only rule was to stay within "whistling distance" (our mom has a wicked loud whistle, so that was pretty damn far).

Then we moved to Arkansas and childhood was pretty much over.  I became a teenager.  My parents had relationship trouble.  My brother rebelled.  My aunt and cousins lived with us for a while.  I went to a good school, and we lived in a good neighborhood, and of course I made good friends.  But it never felt like home.

I tried to get away.  My parents moved to Dallas during my very attempt at college.  I ended up moving in with them for a while.  Then my boyfriend moves to Dallas, then gets transferred to Southeast Oklahoma, then we get engaged, then he's transferred to Albuquerque, New Mexico.  I joined him there just before we got married, and we actually honeymooned in Evergreen.

He was hooked.

Dan and I on our honeymoon (we were both sick), standing on the deck of my first Colorado home.

We went again in the winter (discovering that I should not be allow to teach anyone how to snow ski), and knew that we wanted to end up there eventually.

Unhappy in Albuquerque, we moved in with friends back in Arkansas ... only to very quickly discover that it wasn't the same.  Our friends weren't the same.  We weren't the same.  It felt even more different as we started having kids.  After some horrible Post Partum Depression, I eventually started making mom friends and establishing some roots.  Always in the back of my head was the thought of eventually making it to Colorado.  Maybe we could retire there.

I had no idea it would actually happen this soon.

So here I am, exactly twenty years after moving away, and I'm finally going home.  And not only that, but my kids will get to experience the same magic I did (oddly enough, they are the exact same ages my brother and I were when we moved there twenty-seven years ago).  And I get to experience all of this magic as an adult now.  I mean, they have a bicycling team and a farmers' market now, for goodness sake!

We leave right after Christmas.  The house is for sale, everything is in place, and this is going to happen.  My new adventure.