03 August 2010
The house is a disaster area. If you ever want to change up your home décor style to "post-apocalyptic-shit-storm" I am available for consultations. The good news is that everything has been sorted, cleaned, organized, labeled and so on. The bad news is that now it is all out and all over the place. Add in the general clutter of four people in 1400 square feet of apartment and we have quite the predicament on our hands. I feel like I am running a zero-sum game here where every little thing I get done for the move equals one household thing that I don't get done. Sure the walls have been spackled, but the dishes are now out of control. Sorted out the craft supplies, but now the bathroom is a wreck. You get the idea. Honestly, I understand that this is just the crap that comes with the final countdown, but I am starting to feel more than a little hostile about the whole thing.
I know I am venturing dangerously close to martyrdom mommy here, but I am feeling quite strongly that the division of labor for this move has been heavily skewed to my side of the scale.
I understand that Chris is up to his butt in getting all his work wrapped up and passed on to the appropriate people. I know that he has his knickers extra-bunched thanks to some new details about his replacement (not my place to say any more) and I get it. He has also handled the bulk of the administrative stuff like calling utilities, dealing with Navy personal property and our dragon-lady property manager. I respect that he is helping and doing what he has to do.
When it comes to getting the house, the kids, all our stuff and all our people coordinated and ready to go, it has pretty much been the Alexis show. With the exception of one closet (containing 95% his tools and games), his clothing and his precious board games Chris has not done much in terms of physically getting the house ready. I know it is not fair, but I feel like I am the one busting my ass all day every day to make this move happen when quite frankly, the only reason we have to do this all the time is his job. I also understand that I am projecting a feeling of doom onto this event based on previous behavior. Chris has made it a bit of a habit to get so focused on the needed work preparations that he does no personal preparations. I won't cite examples, but just trust me when I tell you that the "10pm the night before shit-fit panic" is coming.
The real icing on the cake is what will be happening in a few hours. The movers are sending a gal to do a pre-inspection/weight estimation. That is fine. She is coming today at 4pm-ish. That is fine. Chris arranged for us to have dinner out with some friends tonight. That is fine. Each little bit is fine. The whole picture? Well, it goes more like this: The gal for the moving company will be late, she will then want to see the storage unit in Chesapeake, but there will be no one to take her there since I will have to be here to meet our friends who are coming to meet us at the house (despite my desperate pleas that we not have company in while the house looks like this) and I will get to handle it all alone since someone will look at a piece of paper cross-eyed in Japan and now Chris will have to be at work until 8pm. All of this follows me spending the day cleaning since we are having company I tried to beg off and finishing the last of the heinous moving tasks all while dealing with a teething baby and a spoiled princess.
In two weeks we will be in our new house, it will all be done and Chris will be all "what's the big deal, moving isn't that hard." That will be when I kill him. Off to wallow in my self-pity and clean up the hallway since Cha Cha protested her nap my throwing all the freshly sorted bins of clothing into the hall in a gigantic, now re-unorganized, mass. Please fates, just let us survive this so we can, wait for it, probably do it all again in 6 months. Huzzah!