Thank you to all who have left sweet comments and have emailed to check on me. Please know that my lack of response is not personal, but rather due to the fact that I have very little emotional and physical energy at times. Even reading is a chore right now.
Let me just say-moving is H.A.R.D!
Well, for me anyways. For some of you, moving might be easy, especially if you have done it multiple times. But my parents still live in the only house that I know, in a city that I lived for 37 years. I know I keep saying that I am going to do some blogging about moving, but then I just get too tired, physically and emotionally. For the shortened version of my health story, the stress and clutter has made my body not so happy at times as it has flared some diseases that have decided living in my body was a good idea. Some days are great. Some days are not so great, as in "I'm so exhausted and sore, I can't really move much."
Today is/was such a day. I made myself get out of the house though and just sit and read and blog. But I will tell you that at first I thought maybe it wasn't such a great idea as I stopped at a GREEN light. But alas, I persevered and made it to my destination without causing a wreck. And I'm glad (as I'm sure many others are that were driving around me), because I feel better physically. I feel like I can actually walk without feeling utter exhaustion set it.
I know this post will be long which apparently goes against blogging rules, but I'm feeling rebellious right now. Plus, it's my blog anyways, and I have a lot to say. Writing seems to be good for my mental status. I wonder why I haven't done much of it since the move since it seems to help.
Why do we do that to ourselves? Not do something that we know helps us?
Anyways, I thought I would start off my posts about this moving thing with a bang. Now if you don't like TMI stories, or reading about other people's undergarments (or lack thereof in my case), you might want to stop reading and wait for the next post. If you are feeling wild and risky, keep reading.
This story actually involves the Walnut's accident when we first moved, you know when he fell, knocked himself out and got a concussion. By telling this story, I don't mean to make light of what happened. It was a very scary 2 days, but if I don't find this one aspect of it funny, then I will find myself only thinking of the fear of that situation-and for me, that wouldn't be good.
So the Monday the movers showed up, I asked my children if they had remembered to pack themselves some clothes since their clothes would be packed in a box until Wednesday night. And in typical mommy fashion, I had reminded them to especially not forget to pack some clean underwear. Monday, they all assured me that they had packed whatever they needed so I just let the packers go about their business until the Other Nut asked me if I had packed myself some clothes. Panic quickly gripped me as I realized that the movers were in my bathroom with what appeared to be clothes boxes.
I quickly packed me some clothes just as he was about to pack up my closet and just figured I would run to the ol' Walmart down the road and buy me some nice new undergarments later. Well, moving is a little hectic so when Monday night came and went, I was still clean pantiless (is that a word?). Tuesday rolled around, the movers showed up again, continued their packing, and I still had very good intentions of running to Walmart. But, again, moving is hectic, and the Other Nut and the Walnut were actually leaving around dinner time with the movers, we had a lot of visitors saying their good byes, and well, time just got away from me.
When everyone had left, I did a little cleaning and headed to my parents for the night. I was completely exhausted, a little numb at the fact that I was really moving, and actually forgot that I was, by this time, wearing the same panties and bras since Monday morning (it was Tuesday evening).
I stayed up late in the night talking with my mom and then fell into bed exhausted. Wednesday morning arrived, I said good bye to my parents as they left for work, cried my eyeballs out, and headed back to my house for one last clean up and walk through. How I still forgot to stop at Walmart still beats me, but I did. I got to the house to start the cleaning, but that took a little longer than expected, because I did a lot more visiting with friends and neighbors than I did cleaning. By the time I got done, locked the door for the last time, cried my eyeballs out again, got all 3 dogs in the car, picked up my girls from a friend's house, cried my eyeballs out some more, I was just ready to get on the road and finish the inevitable. It was 3:30 p.m., and I had a 6 hour drive ahead of me with 2 kids and 3 dogs.
So, yeah, a stop at Walmart was out of the picture. I even remembered that I was still wearing the same undergarments since Monday morning, but I didn't care a lick about it. I was too busy crying all the way up 45 barely able to see the road. Who needs clean panties at a time like that?!
I pulled up to my new home in a strange city around 9:45 p.m. After saying I to the Other Nut and the Walnut, and the girls saw their rooms, everyone got ready for bed. By the time I started getting ready for bed, it was about 11 p.m. I was so tired, but I also desperately needed a shower (I hadn't bathed since Monday morning either-like a said, moving is a bit hectic). I took a shower, got out, and realized that I had NO IDEA which of the 50 boxes in my bedroom held my much needed clean undergarments-remember there was no box marked "panties". All I had was some clothes hanging in my closet and one pair of pajamas. I figured I had 3 options-1) look through a lot of boxes at midnight to find my undergarments 2) put back on the already 3 day old undergarments that probably just needed to be thrown away by now 3) just put on my pajamas "commando style" and find the box in the morning. I would have plenty of time in the morning right?
I don't know what choice you would have made, but I went choice #3. Who hasn't gone commando style before? If you haven't, you are probably lying.
So the morning rolls around, we start going through boxes, get a little busy doing some things, look through more boxes (still can't find them), but no panic yet. I'm just at home in my really thin, light blue pajamas, but I'm home. Who would see me?
Well, apparently all of Dallas since around 11:30, the Walnut fell and about 3 minutes later, my house was full of EMTs, 1 neighbor, and 1 police chief. And me, in my thin pajamas, commando style. Oh, and no bra either.
Now, when your child is in the middle of an emergency like that, you don't normally care what you look like. And I didn't, but I did have this fleeting thought-"Oh my goodness, I have no panties or bra on with really thin pajamas!" And I knew we were going straight to the ER. This wasn't a "I think he is fine. I don't think you need to take him in." No, this was "we're taking him in and all the way into the trauma center in downtown Dallas."
I did the only thing I could think of doing-I grabbed the longest jacket I had available, threw on my flip flops, and jumped into the passenger seat of the ambulance. And then I spent the rest of the day terribly worried about my son, and a little worried that people around me could tell my little secret.
We finally got home around 10 p.m. that night with our precious little son who was going to be OK. After we got him settled in for the night, can anyone guess what I did?
Decided panties were totally overrated and went straight to bed. KIDDING?
Actually, I had to hurry to an urgent care clinic before they closed and get my broken finger taken care of. (I broke it when I fell running for the phone, dodging boxes when I needed to call 911 for the Walnut) Then when I got home (around midnight), I dug through every stinking box in that bedroom until I found me some clean panties and bras.
And it's a good thing I did, because we were right back in the ER with the little Walnut the next morning as his headache grew worse, and he was a lot of pain.
But that time I was a fully clothed, somewhat functioning adult.
Welcome to the new city! I walked around for 3 weeks with a splint on my right middle finger looking like I was flipping off everyone I saw; but I must say, that's pretty much how I felt.
p.s. The moral of the story-if you are moving, don't forget to pack you some panties!