Where the H*#@ is the Coffee Pot: A Moving Story

I know that my fans (yes--I'm so vain as to believe I have fans) are expecting a witty, entertaining recounting of our moving adventures. And oh were there adventures. But I'm not sure how to begin. If I wrote everything crazy that happened you probably wouldn't end up reading it anyway because it would be flipping long. Maybe this is what I should write my book about? Well, I don't know about that. Because for me to write my book I would need a) time and b) coffee. Since I will be spending the next 43 years of my life unpacking, I'm a bit short on the former. And since I have no idea where the h&%$ the coffee pot is, I'm also lacking the latter. So a novella will have to suffice.

Because our property manager seemed to think she could wait until the day the house was ready to let us know our move-in date, and because the week before last was out of control, we didn't have the opportunity to even start packing until last Monday. That probably wouldn't have been a problem if I didn't own 4,349,434,093 books. But I do, so packing them is a pain, and there's always a chance that in the process Matt will leave me for someone with a less heavy hobby. Happily, he did not. And we did manage, with every spare every second we had, to pack most of our belongings before our horde of helpers my mom and step-dad came for the Big Move on Saturday. Our plan was to try to slowly move our things into the garage during the week so that on Saturday all that was left was the furniture and some boxes. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men...Crazytown Our property manager asked us to come and sign our papers at 7:00pm on Thursday night. At that point she would give us our garage remote, and we could get our keys Saturday morning. Thursday night it is. Long story short, a concert Matt was going to go to on Wednesday turned out to be Thursday, Ben got crazy sick, I signed the lease Thursday night, Matt signed it Friday evening, THEN we had our remote.

On Saturday my beloved friend Brandi, who, if you ask me, should be canonized, graciously took Ben for most of the day while we, two 30-year-olds with colds, a 50-year-old with a disc in her neck (or something along those lines) and a 50-year-old with emphysema, took on the books. My wonderful friend Shelli came and helped for a couple of hours, but otherwise it was four people who really had no business hauling furniture and 234,721,628,590 pounds of books up and down staircases. I should also mention that I wore my running shoes, which are a full size too small because my big, fat, pregnant feet never went back to their old size and I keep forgetting to buy new ones. By the end of the day Ben was whining because his parents had been walking back and forth in front of him (Brandi lives next door to our new place) but not playing with him. All eight of our knees were hurting so badly we were ready to be fit for replacements. My cold had gone from a 2 to a 10. And we were maybe half-way done. At 7:30ish we threw in the towel (figuratively--in reality most of the towels were either wrapped around dishes or nowhere to be found). Speaking of nowhere to be found, also on that list: shampoo, soap, and the like; a bathtub stopper; and the coffee pot. We had the coffee maker--but not the pot. The cherry on Saturday Cake: as Matt and I curled up on our couch, completely spent and aching all over, recently washed with Brandi's shampoo and soap (did I mention the saint-hood thing?), the unmistakable thumping of bass resounded in the walls. The neighbor had picked that moment, 9:30 at night, to crank up the Metallica. Matt went next door, knocked (a few times), and politely asked the single 42-year-old if he could please turn his music down, as we had a one-year-old who was having trouble sleeping. The man said "sure," closed his door, and turned the music up. A little peeved and way too exhausted to ask "WWJD?" I calmly went next door and knocked. After a few tries, the man opened his door, shined a flashlight in my face, and screamed "DUDE! GO AWAY!" then promptly slammed the door.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

Sunday began with, of course, no coffee. Matt went to the old apartment to get a head start while I watched the boy and tried to unpack. Oh, and did I mention the boy woke up at 5:50am? Oh yes. So he was all kinds of helpful as I tried to unpack.

After a few hours of prying the broom, power cords, screwdrivers, DVDs, packing tape, and dishes out of Christopher Columbus's sticky fingers, I put him down for his nap and got a few things done while the cable guy made life worth living set up the TV. Ben woke up 45 minutes later. So after a half a nap he was a gem. When my mom and step-dad got out of church they met up with Matt and helped him pack, load, and clean while I refined my "Mother of the Year" application ("Ben, take that surge protector out of your mouth...give mommy the comet..."). Eventually my mom came and put Ben down for a nap while I took over for her at the apartment. At 4:30 we rolled in to our new home with the last load. I tried handing Ben off to Brandi for a few minutes while we unloaded the truck, but he clung to my pants and tried to climb up me while whining his sweet little neglected head off. So I took him in the house and tried to occupy him whilst we unloaded. He "helped" unpack ("Benjamin, thank you for trying to clean up your toys...but we're actually trying to empty the boxes, not fill them"). At 7:30pm we quit, put Ben to bed, and had ourselves some pizza. Matt started to move around boxes while I collapsed on the bathroom floor, sobbing hysterically. I took a couple of hot showers and stuck my face in the tea pot to relieve the congestion so I could breathe. Then we watched some mindless television and went to bed. Shampoo, soap, and conditioner? Still no sign. Coffee pot? Nope.

Yesterday, Monday, the work week began anew. Ben celebrated by waking up at 6:15. Fortunately I found a pair of dress shoes, which was good since until then all I had was my way-too-small running shoes. My cold kicked my ass so hard I seriously almost passed out during 4th period. The room started spinning, and I calmly sat down and told my students to work on their paper. In the evening we ran some errands and bought a new desk (ours fell apart during the move). Matt put it together while I put the kitchen together (but not the coffee pot--that was still M.I.A.). I did, however, find one pair of flip-flops. Afterwords we went to Brandi and Jesse's and had dessert and adult beverages while we chatted and enjoyed some baby-free, box-free time.

This morning Ben finally slept in. Sadly, however, Matthew took his propensity for leaving things like my keys in random places to the extent I've always feared. Apparently he moved them and forgot about it, and so I spent a good 30 minutes tearing the house apart looking for them so I could go to work. I found them behind the computer, but not before Matt drove all the way home from his work in Irvine. Ben thought the whole thing was a hoot because he got extra play time ("Ben, please don't climb up the bookcase...give mommy the swiffer...No! Don't push that...button...sigh..."). The upside to today? Brandi got her first sub job at my school in the classroom right next door to mine. Super bonus. :)

And now Matt and Ben are spending some time together for the first time in several days while I waste my evening in front of the computer. Sigh.....free time at last. Now if I could just find the d$%& coffee pot...