My Sleep Number Bed!

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

We are moving.  The last time we moved, all the way from Maryland to Pennsylvania, I swore that was the last time.  John and I did the entire move ourselves, except for a few pieces of furniture that I just could not lift.  Our kids were no help and seemed to have the incredible ability to have plans on the days we could have used some help. Megan and a boyfriend broke up right before the move and to this day I find the timing suspect.  I believe I mentioned that I hoped he could help and the next thing you know the kid was history.  Megan claims that had nothing to do with it and probably had more to do with the fact that one day I said, “if you want to know what Megan will be like in twenty five years, take a good look at me, and if you want to know what she will be like in 50 years, take a good look at her grandma.”  Hayley’s one job was to keep our dog, Hershey, out of the way and we would walk out of the house carrying a sofa only to almost trip over Hershey leading the way or sitting directly in our path.  When I yelled for Hayley, it was not uncommon to have her bolt out of a neighbor’s house yelling back that she had told Hershey to stay put and Hershey didn’t listen.  Despite the fact that this scenario repeated itself many times over the course of our move, Hayley continued to try and make it work.  I remember saying to John when we finally finished up the move that I was never moving again unless I was in a pine box. I really just hoped that I would never have to de-clutter again and felt no guilt after the way the kids helped us move to just leave a message in our will that read, “Dad and I moved this crap once by ourselves. Now, it is your turn.”

 

Well, sometimes when you least expect it, God throws you a curve ball and that’s how it felt when John came home one day and said he was being transferred to South Bend, Indiana.  He was absolutely thrilled and said if he stayed in his current job much longer it would kill him.  The problem with a declaration like that is it leaves me with very little to say without sounding selfish.  If your husband just tells you his job is going to kill him and you say something like, “couldn’t you just make it work for another five years so I don’t have to move?” well, some people could take that the wrong way.  I had no choice but to be supportive and other than dropping to my knees and begging, “DON’T MAKE ME MOVE!” over and over again, I think I really pulled it off.

 

Throughout this whole process, the one thing keeping me sane is Fudge.  There is a lot of stress involved in buying a house, selling a house, packing up your belongings, and going through all of your stuff and deciding what to keep.  Of course, once again our kids have rallied around us and the first thing Megan said when I brought her Rubbermaid bins filled with all kinds of things she saved was, “mom, why didn’t you go through this stuff for me?”  When I explained that I didn’t want to be responsible for making the decision whether or not to get rid of the photo album labeled “Ben and Me!” (Her husband’s name is Doc) that seemed to be some kind of photography book depicting kissing styles; she just laughed and asked Doc if he was jealous. I had to laugh when he answered back that he was jealous of Ben, because he got out in time. 

 

Hayley was in shock for quite some time and it took about fifty times of her saying, “should I start packing?” before I finally snapped and said, “no, I would wait for the magic animals in Cinderella to do it for you.” She has opted not to go with us, but whether or not we can get out of here without her hanging onto our bumper as we drive down the driveway remains to be seen.  My friend, Rose, actually is the one who said she had visions of that happening.  It reminds me of when we dropped her off at college and John said we might have to distract her and run to the car while she wasn’t paying attention.  I would hate to have to gun the car to get her to let go.  I kid, but my heart is just as heavy as hers about the separation and I hope someday she ends up closer to us or to Megan.

 

Through all of this, Fudge just seems to know that I need some additional TLC from her.  I have been using her like a worry stone and rubbing her and patting her to alleviate stress.  At night I bury my head in her hair and make her sleep extra close to me and she lets me pull her this way and that way like a pillow until I get her just right.  I tried to explain to John that Fudge is the only reason I have stayed sane and he said to either pet her more or get some more Fudges.  When we closed on our new house in Michigan, I had to fly to Indiana and couldn’t bring Fudge and told John at the hotel that he had to be my Fudge and allow me to pull him this way and that way, but it didn’t work out so great because we disagreed about what I was supposed to pull.

 

So, if you want to know what my sleep number is I would have to say ONE Doodle.  Vern doesn’t stay put all night and has me trained with a couple of paw pats to get him a treat to get him off the bed in the middle of the night, so that is why my sleep number is not TWO Doodles.  John’s number is probably -2 Doodles and -1 wife because some mornings I find him hovering on the edge of the bed, trying to pull the covers out from the other occupants in the bed to get warm. Oh well, just because I am being supportive doesn’t mean the sleeping arrangements will change at the new house.  In fact, we are going with a much lower bed at the new house and I suspect it will only make it easier for two Doodles to sleep with us.  That thought makes me smile!

My Sleep Number Doodle!

[F, Calla & Luca]

TG for Fudge, imagine if you were any crazier. Calla, Luca and I wish you a very smooth move and a happy settling in although we will miss having you one state away. Doc seems to have John's sense of humor., which is great.