…is ending. I barely noticed it was a month at all, and if I hadn’t taken on the crazy endeavor of hosting Thanksgiving for eight four days after moving into the new place, I might not have noticed it happened at all.
That said, I missed my goal of moving on November 20th by one day, and that’s only because Brad forgot and made plans. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise because I needed that Saturday desperately. I sent out a plea for help, knowing myself, completely aware that I would become overwhelmed in moments if left to my own devices, curl up on the couch and watch Law and Order S.V.U on Netflix. (The show choice isn’t my fault. Someone tweeted about an episode that sounded intriguing, I already knew I liked the regular L & O from it’s dominance on TNT, and it was all over- I was hooked.)
The only person who responded to the bat signal was my mommy.
Never in a million years would I have thought to ask her, but she saw the call to arms on Facebook and offered her services. My mom has neuropathy in her feet and hands and over time I’ve become incredibly protective of her, so it simply wouldn’t have occured to me to ask her to help me with the packing and cleaning. But oh my god, she was helpful. She was a workhorse, laboring tirelessly in the kitchen which I thought I had almost finished but clearly, CLEARLY, I had not. (My friend Karin also helped out for a bit, which I appreciated greatly. That was an unexpected surprise.)
The next day, my mom was back, this time with my father in tow, and they joined the group of burly helpers (and one burly-helper’’s girlfriend who I had never met and, honestly, how nice was she to help a chick she didn’t even know? People are awesome) we had bribed with munchkins and coffee. At one point we didn’t think we had enough help, seeing as how we needed to go from Portsmouth to the Epping apartment to Epping Storage to Merrimack to Epping Storage to Epping apartment….. but some of these helpers worked in shifts and some worked multiple shifts and they all have my eternal gratitude.
This was also the day I learned my cat can fly. Or she’s a ninja. Or Santa.
This is Callie.
Callie is the pretty coon cat that I’ve had for over 10 years. Once Brad and the boy kitties moved in, her life turned into a living hell and she spent all her days and most of her nights living under my bed. (Because of the boys, not because of Brad. Brad is amazing with her.) She pretty much stopped being friendly and became extremely skittish. So she really did not like it when we started taking all of her hiding places away and shoving them in a Uhaul. At one point, when there was only one other
witness person in the room with me, she darted out and took temporary solace in the non-working fireplace. I figured she had no place to go, and was just about to gather her up in my loving, protective arms when she telegraphed “Eff this shit,” looked up into the depths (heights?) of the chimney and leapt. AND SHE VANISHED.
Then No Kitty.
At that point, I went a little hysterical. All I could say was “SHE’S IN THE CHIMNEY. She just JUMPED UP THE CHIMNEY.” All I could think is that she bounced up that chimney like Mario, pinging off the walls, or that she was suspended there, like a spy, or a ninja, or like River from Firelfy:
You know. Like this.
Brad took my arms and told me to breathe as I babbled incoherently, shaking me slightly until I finally met his eyes and declared, “Baby, Callie just flew up the flue.” That’s when he decided I was fine. (Apparently, Callie looked up and discovered there was a giant hole in the chimney wall where she could essentially crawl into the house. The kind of gaping maw in the brick that I could practically fit in, that made me think of hidden things and Nancy Drew novels. It was pretty cool, and I’m not going to lie, I was a little sad I only discovered it on my last day.I wanted to investigate.)
Other than that, the move was typical. It sucked, but it sucked much less than it could have, so that’s something. And within four days, Brad and I had arranged the kitchen and living room into a habitable space and invited 6 members of my family over to eat a complete meal that we cooked together, as long as they brought pie and wine. And somehow, that crazy scheme to motivate us worked, although most of the boxes got piled in my bedroom. This is unfortunate because I can’t quite think of an appropriate way to invite people to a party in my bedroom without it sounding like an orgy.
…I simply may have no choice.