Moving sucks.
You would think for all the times I’ve gone through moving
(four in the past fifteen years and the annual back and forth from Mary
Washington) I’d be used to this. Au contraire. My usual experience usually goes
like this.
The parents announce we’re moving and it’s time to pack up
all our stuff (which accumulates to an awful lot after their twenty-five year
marriage). Pack all personal belongings in the first day. Live out of my
suitcase for three days or so. Clothes end up all over the floor. Realize that
digging to the bottom of said suitcase for a shirt is ridiculous and move them
back into drawers. Do the same with books after realizing I can no longer take
out library books because I’ll lose them in the move. Then I find out that
we’re moving in the next couple days, so I re-pack everything. And still have
to dig through tons of clothes for my PJs before the move is complete.
Unpacking in the new house is almost as bad. Having the
space to rearrange and place all my things is nice, but it seems like something
always gets lost. Sometimes I’ll find things months later in a box that was
mismarked. Sometimes they’ll never show up, like my Victoria’s Secret robe. (My
mom keeps saying that we’ll find it in the attic. But after two moves I kind of
doubt it.)
Meanwhile, there’s a whole house to pack up, and being the
eldest I’m naturally expected to do the majority of the packing/reminding
younger siblings to pack their own stuff. Usually that means making sure my
teenage brother isn’t playing online games when he’s supposed to be clearing
the attic and breaking up any fights (which is inevitable; there are at least
two or three outbreaks per day). AND take care of the menagerie that we refer
to as our pets: McTamney (the border collie), Clementine (aka Sméagol the
Beagle), Cindy, Sylvester, Francie, Alex and Polly (all lazy cats that seem to
think the kitchen counter is their personal domain).
Yep, it gets pretty hectic.
Most days it’s not too bad; I can delegate chores and as long
as my little sister doesn’t get any sugar things run pretty smoothly. Until
this past week. Enter allergies. All the responsibilities seem to triple and of
course it would be the week that both parents are tied up between work and
getting last minute things for the move. It hasn’t been fun, let me tell you.
Someday I’ll probably look back and realize this has been a
great training experience. I’ll be a boss at packing a house. Everything will
be neatly organized. My kids will quietly pack their stuffed animals and the
pets will sleep or at least stay out of the way.
Until then, please keep your distance and if you say
anything to me make sure it’s confirmation of a pizza delivery. It’s for your
own safety.
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