Rotten Bananas

That's what Carol says my legs look like after moving into our rental house this last week. My legs are covered in bruises and if I could find my camera amongst all our household goods, I would have shared a photo with you.... ew.

It took three days and lots of preplanning but everything went off fairly well. We are all alive but sore and tired and our arteries are clogged from eating so much fast food. Here's the rundown:

Last Tuesday we started the moving process using our minivan. We made many many trips listening to 60 seconds on Erik's techno-pop CD since the destination was only four blocks away. My nerves were chafing and my muscles were sore.

On Wednesday I hired a moving company with three guys to move the piano, TV and a few heavy things. Once I found out there was a three hour minimum I made sure I got my money's worth. This was a blessing in disguise because they moved our couches, washer dryer, my bedroom furniture and all the garage wall lockers. Better them than me.

The head mover guy kept wanting to talk politics once he found out my husband was deployed to Iraq. Problem was... he didn't know the name of our president... "you know that guy, the president... Reagan or whatever his name is". Can you hear my eyes rolling? OMG.

On Wednesday, Barney was thrilled to be served a McDonald's Sausage Biscuit for breakfast since I was out of dog food and just wanted to get our day started. I paid dearly for that decision in sleep as I had to rush to let him out several times during the night for "biscuit expulsion"

By Thursday, I was sleep deprived and we were all suffering from shaky muscles (that's the medical term for being out of shape and trying to move furniture for two days). Patrick, who can be a stinker and an instigator, was pouncing on trouble wherever he could find it. He started the day by picking a fight with his sister.

Any time he can get Erik or Carol in trouble he will do it. He has perfected the fake cry. To him, it's an art form and he's gotten so good that I can't tell the difference between the dramatization or the real deal. He's always throwing fits to get his siblings in the noose if it suits his purpose. After 4 or 5 of these scenes, I was plotting.

So I arrived at the old house with a U-Haul. It was the small truck with the enticing $19.99/day price. Patrick was entranced with the truck and immediately wanted to cruise the neighborhood in it. While he was pestering me for a ride, I found out the catch with the $19.99 truck... no gangplank. Everything to be loaded had to be lifted about waist height into the van. Painful. After several attempts, Erik and I gave up on getting our behemoth barbecue in there.

How to get the barbecue down the street? It won't fit in the mini van. I have to be out of the house in 12 hours so I can't leave it. What to do?

At that very moment Patrick approached me in a cry because Carol had pinched his finger somehow moving a bed frame down the stairs.

LIGHT BULB MOMENT

Patrick enjoyed the privilege of walking our 150 pound, shiny, stainless barbecue through the neighborhood in 90 degree humid heat. He cried the whole way or at least until I was out of sight. It was sweet revenge.