So, yesterday I helped Rebecca move out of her house. She’s moving back to Cincinnati (well, just outside of the city). I’m not to thrilled about this, but that’s where her husband lives and she’s having a baby so I really can’t be too selfish. And it’s only like 2 1/2 hours away, so really I can’t complain.
I helped move her into the place last summer. We did it one of the shop vans, and I swear it only took like 2 or three treks to the storage center. It was just me, her, and Heather. We got everything in, we never yelled at each other. We were efficient, and even managed to get the washer and dryer out of the van and into the basement without hassel and didn’t spend all day doing it. I didn’t really realize how much stuff she had…or gained. Like, a lot of stuff. A whole 26 foot Uhaul filled to the top plus 2 cars, plus stuff still left in the house amount of stuff.
I look at my small mountain I have in my apartment, most all of it in green bags and I am thankful that I only have that. Especially now.
See, the Uhaul didn’t fit in the alley behind her house, meaning that it had to be in front. She is up on a hill. A hill that is made of inconsistent overgrown stairs. Every stair is in a different spot, and a different elevation. It was me, Taj, her brother, husband, and Pierre doing the work since she is pregnant. And really, we lost Pierre to a case of beer and a neighbor. We started at 9. I left at 5:30.
Towards the end of the day we still had a ton of furniture and we were running out of room. I kept telling them of furniture that can have boxes on to but the boys were insistent at building this stupid wall of boxes. When Jeff (her husband) came into the bedroom he just looked at the dressers and bed and said “Oh. I forgot about this stuff.” My one breakthrough of the day was to finally get them to shove boxes of stuff from the office/basement/garage (all on the same level) into her car and drive stuff around. After about 20 minutes they finally started doing that and speeding up the move.
My knees are still hurting me. I mean, not only carrying things down and then running back, but the sheer fact that I’m not even close to go shape (or health) so that was torture, even if we did make the boys do the heavy things.
The condo has a flight of stairs, but thankfully I have until the end of August to move out of the apt (if I break the lease, it’s more than paying the rent) so I can go slow. And I really only have a bed, and a desk that qualifies as a two person lift.
The moral of this story is that girls rule and should really be the only people packing.
Jun
