Yesterday we moved boxes. A lot of boxes. A boatload, mountainous, extremely large amount of boxes. Or at least it felt that way around seven that evening. We were all so hungry, tired and thirsty that we were dragging at the end.
My oldest son was a trooper though. He pulled his weight and then some. You see, my husband had to work that morning and could only take off work at lunchtime. So that left he and I the "official movers" for the day. We started at eight picking up the truck and did I mention that I drove that bad boy home. Oh yeah, I did. All. By. Myself.
I felt pretty stinking cool in that thing….well, except for the fact I had to actually go forward. But sitting there in the parking lot, I was the bomb, baby. Wait, do kids still say that nowadays?
Well anyway, after my slight panic episode of getting the truck home, I realized the fact I had to back that bad boy up when I finally got there. ….another moment of panic….. And then, on a wing and a prayer and a hallelujah chorus I turned that monster of a truck off and kissed the ground.
Never again. Truck driving is definitely NOT in my future.
After that epiphany, my son and I loaded the entire truck for the next 4 hours. Four very long hours. My husband was then home for lunch and we rallied all the troops we could find. In our case, every child with two arms in our house had to carry a box. Then we broke the news that we had to go and unload everything.
There was much sadness.
Finally, after five more hours we unloaded everything at our new house. This move was just boxes and it was a monster of a move. The next move in a few days is the furniture. I hate to think about the look on the kids faces when we tell them that fact.
Moving….no good thing about it. Just gotta live through it.