Yesterday was moving day. My children had been sharing an apartment near their university for a year, and it was time to excavate a years worth of shit and prepare for the road ahead. The Boy has a new place nearby, as he’ll be continuing in school. The Girl is consolidating her belongings and moving back in with me as she continues her job search.
i hate moving. With every ounce of my soul. Since neither of them are old enough to rent an appropriate vehicle, and we don’t know anyone with a big truck*, my primary function was to be renting the truck. The Boy arranged to have some of his friends help with the heavy lifting, and The Girl had a friend pitch in as well.
i was still concerned that i might actually have to lift something we would be short handed.
daisyfae: Have you told your dad when you’re moving? He could come down to help…
The Girl: [cringes]
The Boy: No. He’d bring R**. She’s a bitch.
daisyfae: Yeah, but she’d help move shit. If for no other reason, to make me look lazy.
The Boy: Mom, no offense, but you’re pretty crazy. But R? She’s fucking insane.
daisyfae: C’mon. i can use the blog-fodder.
The Boy: You want something to blog about? How about I just go take a shit on your living room rug. The dog will eat it, and you’ll have plenty of blog material***.
* Huge downside to hangin’ with theater people. They drive Yugos and Ford Festivas. The ones with cash? Bunch of eco-weenies with hybrids that are smaller than my dog.
** R is my ex-husbands live-in girlfriend. She helped with moving last year. She was helpful, but creepy. i gave her points for showing up… and left town so the kids could have a nice dinner with the ex and R. Apparently? She really hates me, and it was an uncomfortable dinner…
*** hey. lookit that. found a post in it anyway!