The movers did finally arrive on Wednesday to pack. Thursday was moving day. Thursday night was cleaning night for Amy… except we hit a little snag.
Apparently the moving company sent their B team. Which was unfortunate because we close today, so I didn’t have the option of making them come back to finish.
Once I was done cursing and came down from my panic attack, I begged my parents to bring over some boxes before their Rascal Flatts concert. I probably made them late, but in true Stearman fashion, they didn’t complain at me. Then I begged my in-laws to come over with their truck so we could store this stuff at their house. They didn’t complain at me either.
Our realtor sent me a text regarding our relocation experience: “I’ve never seen anything like this. I believe you’re being tested. Keep the faith.” He’s an old family friend and a good man. So I kept the faith and said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But then I paid for that because Kelly Clarkson was in my head the rest of the night. Hmpf.
We got everything moved, and I mopped my way out of the house for the last time.
And really wasn’t too upset to close the door behind me. It occurred to me later that maybe the move was supposed to be maddening instead of easy, so that I would feel mad rather than sad.
Things happen in a certain way for certain reasons, and this cluster eff of a move ensured me some closure. I’m done.
Dear “O” Family,
Welcome home! We sincerely hope that you are happy in your new house, and will enjoy many years there.
D, Amy, Junior and Bill