The Move

The week of the move, we had a painting party.  We expected maybe four or five people to show up.  To our delight, TEN people showed up.  It was amazing!  Even our friends with babies brought them along, setting up makeshift playpens with boxes.  We had more than enough to do.  We painted all of the trim (which was dark wood) and covered most of the downstairs with this crew.  There are some spots that still need touching up, but a huge amount of the work was done, and we were grateful.
The living room
Here’s my friend Shelley all alone painting around the door that leads to the garage.
“Hey, we’re all done trimming this entryway, so let’s go stand on the kitchen counter.”

Jaime and Amy fit perfectly to do the top of the kitchen.
We ended up staying that night until around 10:30, but we felt really happy about what was done.  Thank you to everyone who came.
Then a few days later, moving day arrived! 

Loading up
Ben put a sign on the door that said “I love moving!”  I did not feel the same way around six hours later.
The new place is just a short ten minute’s drive away, over a little back road most of the way.  This road feels a little bumpy in a regular car, but according to my husband, in a moving truck , it feels like “THE SURFACE OF THE MOON.”

Unloading
I’m not sure why, but all of our bed linens ended up in a pile in the driveway.

Below you see a picture of the Most Difficult Piece of Furniture We Own.  You may see a picture of our dining room hutch in this post from last week.  The important thing to know about this hutch is that it does not come apart.  It is one piece.  We have moved it from Massachusetts, to San Francisco, to L.A., to Charlotte, and every time people’s eyes get really big when we tell them that it’s a single piece.  David understands how it needs to be moved by now, but he is always nervous about it.

I call the photo “Scaling His Personal Everest.”  My parents think he looks like General MacArthur.  I can see that.

Notice Wayne in the foreground, a good ten feet away, hands firmly in pockets.
He was not getting involved, and was not ashamed to say so.  Smart.

Proof that the hutch made it into the house.  Then we could all breathe a sigh of relief.

Maddie drinking Gatorade.  Moving is tough on 3 year olds.

 By the time we were all sitting around eating dinner that night, Maddie had crumbled to a shell of herself.  I asked her to go upstairs to put on her pajamas and she begged me to make that her “last job.”

I get tired just looking at these pictures!  Oof.

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