I’ll be honest, today is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’ve had four major moves in the last five years, five if you count Scottsdale to Washington state, prior to moving to Germany. Six, seven, or eight moves if you count Belarus to Lithuania, then Lithuania to the States, then the U.S. to Ireland, after we were PNGd. Needless to say, I’m something of a moving aficionado at this point.
For moving, I have a system. The system involves packing my own linens and clothes, the use of spreadsheets and lists, and lots and lots of organizing and cleaning. Unfortunately since the actual “we found you a new residence” and “you can move next week” came rather suddenly, my system was a bit shot. Add in that we have no household help and I’m 30 weeks pregnant, my system is REALLY shot.
This is a HUGE problem for someone that survives and thrives on organization and control. Yes, I know, then why in the world did I marry into the FS, another topic, another post. Anyway, for this move, I’ve had to put down my tape gun, shout a farewell to my colored Sharpies, and I’m fairly certain that my husband has hidden my spreadsheets. NOT fun.
Just in the past week, I’ve had no fewer than 10 people tell me that I’m not allowed to pack, help, or chase around the movers with my lists (for which I’m sure they’re thankful). The “powers that be” have called several times and told me that in my “condition” I need to sit on the couch and relax. Of course I agreed, only to put the phone down and start another list. What I hadn’t planned on was a husband who would actually take the day off and stay home to supervise the move, and me. This is a first; he’s usually stuck at work during pack-outs. So here we are, me typing away on my laptop, him perched at the other end of the couch (between me and the doorway no less), watching me out of the corner of his eye. I’m trapped, really trapped. The loss of control is hard.