The Perils of Traveling!

[Laurie, Fudge, and Vern]

Lately, I don’t seem to know if I am coming or going.  In the past two weeks, I have been to North Carolina to help Megan and Doc unpack and to Indiana to see my mom.  John was along for the trip to North Carolina, but the Indiana trip was by myself.  The older I get the longer the drive seems and when you are by yourself the drive can be endless.  I used to be able to get up at 3 am and drive the 10 hours without missing a beat, but now my recovery time is longer and I stay with a sister who thinks naps are for sissies.  She had me getting up the next day to make Sand Tarts and I could see her mentally labeling me LAZY when I said I would be sleeping in the next day and the Sand Tarts would not be started at the crack of dawn.  I have said it before that the person who coined the phrase age is only a number was not yet at a high enough number. 

 

Megan and Doc moved into their house while we were in Mexico and when we got there the POD was still not unpacked.  Since it was being picked up in a few days, I sensed an urgency that no one else did.  I should have kept my mouth shut, because I must have temporarily forgotten the days when we helped Megan move in or out of her dorm in college.  For some reason, Megan was always on an upper floor and the elevator never worked.  This meant someone had to carry the boxes up and down the steps and since most of the time the move seemed to come as a complete surprise to Megan and rarely had boxes been procured or things packed, Megan deemed herself the organizer and mom and dad the mules.  One move when John conveniently had to work late and I was by myself, Megan had me hold out my arms as she piled her crap on them and then guided me towards the steps.  If I complained I couldn’t see and I was afraid I would fall down the steps, she would often tell me to stop whining, aim straight ahead, step down in three and hope for the best, and to hurry up because we had a lot to do.  Now, for those of you wondering why I let this go on, I just knew if someone didn’t do it, we were going to get a bill for summer housing in the mailbox and go back to the dorm to find Megan sitting amongst her belongings and wondering where everyone went.

 

When we opened the POD, I could see little had changed since those college days.  Looking at the way things had been packed, I made the mistake of asking if they had been packed by a moving company called “Two Monkeys and a Moron” and quickly found out that bad packers can be mean and humorless. She didn’t appreciate the comment and furthermore stated that no, she did not recall me helping.  I also quickly realized by the way she was moving about the POD, shifting things willy nilly, accomplishing little except stating frequently that most of the stuff was Doc’s and he could just unpack it, that she did take after her father after all.  His motto has always been put off today what you can do tomorrow or until some Type A person named Laurie does it for you and I began to see where this was headed.  I asked once why they hadn’t unpacked more and she looked me right in the eye and said, “mom, have you ever had a baby and had to unpack from a move.”  When I stated, “gee, I don’t think I have had a baby, but if I did, I bet I could unpack more than one box a day,” it did not go over well. She loves playing that baby card, but never sympathizes when I say I had two babies and am still trying to lose my baby weight. Fair is fair.

 

Well, I took charge and told her we were making two piles…one for things she wanted in the house and one for things she wanted in storage…she got on the stick and started handing me boxes.  I also decided to take it one step further for fear the boxes would still be sitting in two piles in the front of the yard next year and decided we were going to take the boxes inside to where they belonged or to the storage shed.  What I didn’t bank on was the fact that Megan and Doc packed those boxes extra full and heavy and they own more books than Barnes and Noble.  I also assumed there would be two of us getting the boxes to the proper locations, but forgot the fact that Megan almost always put herself into the managerial position in a move situation and the rest of us are the labor.  She was having a hard enough time deciding if she wanted a futon in or out that it seemed in my best interest to not ask questions like, “What is in this box?  An anchor or a 100 pound barbell?” I found that out the hard way.  Later, after I had gotten every thing where it went, I did mention that I hoped this 60-year-old lady could walk tomorrow and all she said was I was only 57.  She must have forgotten I round up in pounds lost at Weight Watchers and age when it suits my purposes.

 

Megan also was adamant that I was not allowed to unpack any of the boxes once inside the house, or I guess I should say she became adamant after I unpacked one of them and irritated her.  I got in big trouble and was quickly fired when I started unpacking one box and asked them to explain the system they used to pack a stoneware lasagna pan (see, a heavy item was in every box}, an empty shoebox wrapped in wrapping paper from their 2010 wedding with a card inside (no check inside, Doc asked), and two volleyballs. At times, John seemed to be having seizures or something with the way he kept bringing his index finger to his lips every time I said something.  Then I threw away an IPad sleeve that had been in that box since 2010 and not missed, but became a collector’s item once it landed in the trash. We did finally come together when John, the engineer, all but graphed out the way we should move the futon up the steps and had us taking it apart, folding it flat, etc. until we told him that we preferred a quicker and easier method called “cram it up the steps and if it gets stuck, make the stairwell a guest bedroom.”  Nothing brings Megan and me together like taking a stand against Doc or John.  When we left to go home Megan was revving up to paint and decorate and Doc said we were the lucky ones because we got to leave.   My friend said John was probably thinking they were the lucky ones because they got to stay.

 

None of this has anything to do with the real reason I wrote this blog.  Maybe my family is right when they say I have problems letting things go, because I was really here to talk about how hard all this traveling has been on Fudge and Vern.  Between the times I went to Megan’s and then to my mom’s, my suitcase was left out and suitcases always mean worried dogs in our household. Fudge is never herself after I start packing and it has gotten to the point where I will ask John to distract them while I load the car.  I am not always sure Vern has a clue or just senses something from Fudge’s energy, but both dogs were beyond naughty the week in between my trips.  Every single time I left them outside to their own devices, they either chewed sticks, ate grass, or dug mammoth holes.  Seriously, if I ever go missing, someone notify the police to check the hole over by the garbage cans.  At night, I think they prowled the house in some kind of reconnaissance mission to catch wooden signs and things with stuffing unawares to bring them down.  The night before my very long trip to Indiana, Vern got me up at 3 in the morning and when I came through the living room, without my glasses, I thought there had been some kind of French fry explosion.  Turns out it was wood shavings from a sign I had in my guest bedroom.  Upon further investigation, I discovered my Christmas elf hat in the foyer, which led me to piece together the events of the night and determine Fudge, my little counter surfer when it involves anything furry, must have gotten the hat, knocked over the sign next to it, and Vern seized an opportunity.  These dogs are almost 5 and 6 and this is a brand new behavior.  So, there I was at 3 am, vacuuming up wood shavings with a large helper who wasn’t grasping the fact that I was mad and he was bad and tail wagging was an inappropriate response to the situation.  I think Fudge was worn out from all the shenanigans, because by that time she had gone back to bed.

 

So, there you have it. Between the traveling and two naughty Doodles, I am tired.  I don’t care if my sister thinks nap takers are sissies, I plan on taking two this weekend, maybe three, because who knows, I might still be tired from the first or second nap.  Oh, and I put the suitcases away, for now.  I want my old dogs back.  You know, the ones who were just ordinary naughty and not spectacularly naughty.

Elf Hat in Question from the evidence locker room :)

Proving we can get along for about 15 minutes!

and just because I love this photo!

The two perps!

[Traz, Karen & Dale]

Oh my Laurie, you have definitely been busy from every possible angle a Mother can imagine.  I could picture myself right there with you as you helped your precious child with her move.  They want your help, but they don't want your opinion.  It is a very difficult thing to do sometimes but we try our best.  You deserved the several naps that you took after all these adventures.  I hope Fudge and Vern took some naps too.  Thank you for sharing your story, once again, with all of us that enjoy your story telling.  Happy Holidays to you and your family.  And, I hope Fudge and Vern do not decide to rearrange the decorations again :-)

[F, Calla & Luca]

You are maligned and abused beyond imagining. Rest assured we love you, and your pictures, and we make no demands :-)