We are now officially out of the hotel and into the new house. I knew that I was stressed out being in the hotel and dealing with the housing uncertainty, but I don't think I realized the extent of it until we got into the new house and I felt like I could take an unforced deep breath for the first time in months. We checked out of the hotel last Thursday. Theoretically, since we brought everything with us in just two cars, everything should have fit fine (and we didn't even have to also fit a child and a dog this time), but we were seriously doing the "push it in and shut the door as fast as you can" method of getting everything loaded. RIP to the almost completely full 1.5 of vodka we accidentally left in the room. I hope whichever housekeeping person found it is enjoying it! You deserve it.
Not knowing how long it would be until we got our stuff, we set up the air mattress in the new place and went to IKEA to buy some plates and silverware to tide us over. Turns out everything was delivered two days later. Thankful for the short turnaround, buuuuut could have very easily just done paper plates for two days instead of buying four plates/bowls/etc.
PCSing is always a crap shoot. There are more horror stories than there are happy stories. The fact that we had avoided major disaster up until this point felt too good to be true, and I was right. Several pieces of our furniture are completely destroyed (although our 10-year-old plasma TV that I want to replace but cannot bring myself to because it *still technically works just fine* was COMPLETELY UNSCATHED yet again), and several boxes are missing. We'll get some money back for what's broken, but it's a long and drawn out process. Worst of all, though, is that someone stole our computer. When Matt called me to tell me that, I was on my way home from a laundromat (still no washer/dryer -- technically that's being delivered today) and I scream-cried in the car for several minutes. That computer has every single photograph that I have taken in the last 10 years on it. In moves past, we have taken the computer with us in the car (cardinal rule is usually you take irreplaceable things with you -- documents, jewelry, etc) but this time we just didn't have the room. It felt like losing something in a natural disaster -- a fire, a flood, a hurricane -- except that this wasn't an Act of God, and was very clearly an Act of a Person, and because of that, felt more preventable. Why didn't we just make room? (We couldn't have.) We should have bought a bigger car to make it fit! (Ridiculous! You hate minivans anyway.) I was the person who was at home during the pack-out. Why didn't I ask them to put it in another box? It felt deeply like it was my fault because I was the last one present with it. Obviously it's not my fault because I can't control someone stealing something, but I feel like I failed because I didn't do enough to mitigate it.
I got back to the house and panic-searched for the external HD we used as backup. No, it's not backed up on the cloud, because I don't like the cloud, thanks for asking. Has this changed my mind? Am I a rational person? No and no.
I found a HD in one of the document boxes and held my breath as I plugged it into the laptop. It seemed to have time machine backups on it starting in 2013 (all I care about are the baby pictures, anyway, which are 2010-2013). I tried to eject it from the laptop but even after the icon was gone from the desktop, the light was still on. I didn't even want to breathe on it lest I fuck something up with the files, so I turned off the computer and then gingerly unplugged it once the light turned off and haven't touched it again since then. My anxiety inexplicably works in reverse sometimes -- instead of compulsively checking it every day, I'd rather ignore it and just assume it's all fine, and then freak out later if it doesn't.
The new (rental) house has a massive screen porch, which has been my dream since I was old enough to know I hated bugs (age 3? In utero?). Matt and I knew if we didn't purchase furniture for it immediately, we would forever have two mismatched camp chairs, the two green chairs I bought from a friend in San Diego that after seven years have still not morphed into something actually comfortable to sit in, and our stained plastic picnic table as the only furniture on the porch. So kudos to us for stomaching a Walmart on a Sunday, finding a set on clearance, renting a truck from the only U-Haul place open on a Sunday (in a very questionable neighborhood, which is like everything on the south side of Memphis), and picking it up. He made a valiant effort to get a new TV out of the deal ("while we have the truck") but I still cannot follow through. We will, someday.
Bug and the dog are now in Minneapolis with my parents, having the time of their lives. They will head to Wisconsin next week, and then finally back to us the week after. It feels so strange not having either of them here. I'm not shaming people who don't have kids, but holy shit balls, I forgot how the amount of responsibility that one has without them is miniscule. Tiny. Non-existent. Only being worried about myself more or less is VERY WEIRD. I still panic when I see it's 4:45 and I don't have a concrete plan for dinner, and then remember that it's just us two, and if we eat at 8:30 PM it's not a huge deal. Every day, same time: PANIC. PANIC. Then go eat chips out in the open instead of hiding in the bathroom with them out of sight and earshot of your kid who you JUST TOLD not to eat any snacks because it's almost dinner. Repeat.
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This is completely unrelated but I never told this story to anyone, and I just have to get it out. Please know that it all turned out OK and Bug and I were just fine (hi, Mom!) but the last time we went to Baltimore just the two of us, we took the Amtrak, and headed outside the train station to our Lyft to get to the Children's House. The driver was... sketchy looking. But I hate how if you cancel the ride, they charge you. So I was waffling on that (I know, right? I'm more concerned about a few dollars than my personal safety? Apparently.) Ladies and gentlemen, the man was not wearing any shoes, and had the longest toenails I have ever seen, on top of English not being his first language, the latter of which is not inherently bad, but when you need to directly communicate to someone regarding your destination and/or safety, it can be a factor. As soon as we got in the car, someone from the city came up to the car (there were a whole bunch of city workers with clipboards out enforcing ride share people) and demanded the guy's license. He wouldn't give it to her, or couldn't find it -- I don't remember which one it was. The woman, who had more "street smarts" in her right pinky fingernail than I had accumulated in my entire 35 years of life, gave me this look like, "Bitch, you crazy. I wouldn't be in that car." I was frozen. I had never encountered this in my life. Somehow having my kid with me didn't make me jump out -- it made me want to just get it over with faster, because I didn't want to make a scene in front of her, and then also endure the 500 questions about why we were getting out of the car and having to answer them publicly in front of this guy. I know, I know, I didn't owe him anything! Please insert your soapbox about how women have been conditioned since birth to make sure everything is easier for everyone else, including (and most exclusively) men. The driver was now vehemently arguing with the woman who could clearly not legally stop him from taking us anywhere about whatever documentation he was refusing to show her, and she continued to give me these skeptical and judgmental looks for staying in the car. Finally she left and the guy digs out his license and starts defending himself about how he DOES have a license and he had to show that to be approved for Lyft anyway (I can attest to this -- on one of our many late night "how can we maybe make more money" anxiety fests, we toyed with the idea of Matt driving Uber in Norfolk because he has base access, which was always lucrative, and the background check process was time consuming, so it gave the illusion of security). I just sort of nervously nodded and was like, "please let's just go." So on top of Baltimore not being one of the safest cities in the first place -- the location of Johns Hopkins in the city being no exception to this -- we have this guy who has now at least put on some kind of flip flop which is good, I guess, but does nothing to hide the grotesquely long toenails, driving us. In the end we made it safely to the Children's House. I will never forget the look on that city worker's face, lips pursed, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side and shaking back and forth like, "white people are so dumb." My mother will most certainly text me immediately after reading this to scold and share her disappointment with me for my choices, and also offer to pay for whatever car service I need in the future so that my carnal need for a deal doesn't again subject me to disgusting toenails and a potential Dateline story.
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