Packing! Barfing (not me)! Leaving in a week?!

I thought I'd have all manner of things to post what with the move and all, but the thing is that I pack, I see friends, I pack, I pack, I organize stuff, I pack, I try to look for housing and childcare from afar, I pack, it's really very tedious and boring.

Plus Maddie has been sick. Today is the first day since Wednesday that she hasn't been vomiting. Poor baby. She has also had troubles out the other end, leading to the most charming (if that adjective can even be applied to such matter) description of diarrhea I've ever heard. "Mama!" she exclaimed, peering into the toilet after her first round. "I made poop soup!" Poop soup indeed.

Oh, yeah, and I also managed to totally lose my cell phone, but CV had an old one (we have the same service) to pass on to me and then it turned out that I was eligible for a free upgrade, so there you go. All of my contacts are gone, though. Hmmm . . . moving in a week, all cell contacts gone . . . is that some kind of irony, or something? Poetic justice? I'm not sure, but there's some connection there.

Maddie and Riley leave on Wednesday with my mom and dad. We're having a little going-away shindig for them at daycare on Tuesday. Then I leave on Sunday, just one week from tomorrow. The POD will be delivered on Thursday, the movers will come to load it on Friday, and it will be taken away on Saturday. Jeepers cripes.

I've been meaning to download photos off my camera for, oh, five months now. I was really, truly going to do it tonight, but the kids ended up going to bed late and I just can't deal. I must read People magazine and go to bed early. My guilty pleasures revealed.

My question for the day: does one tip movers? If so, how much? I'm paying the guys who are loading my POD a not insignificant sum of money for their services, but having never used movers before, I'm just not sure what the etiquette is. I don't want to be a stingy bitch, but I don't want to be a sucker either. Tipping is so tricky.

Crazy Like a Fox

Last week, I was riding the high of having been laid off within days of having been offered my dream job. The beauty of that karma was stunning. "I'll have so much time to pack!" I thought. "I'll be able to relax, see friends, not stress out. This will be the best moving experience ever!"

I'm not saying that it's not the best moving experience ever. I am pretty relaxed. But I was more than a little INSANE to think that I'd have time to lie around and eat bon-bons between putting things in boxes. Oh, and yeah: I thought I'd be blogging every day. Ha! No! Instead, it's all moving, all the time. For example, who knew that getting a permit for my POD container would be a ten-step process involving three trips to Town Hall, numerous phone calls, and a visit to the police department? Not I! Who knows what my moving company means by "more furniture pads than you think you could possibly need?" Again: not I! (Seriously—anyone got a number for me?)

This week has been nonstop, but I'm starting to feel like it will all happen. My POD is booked and permited (pending the last stop for police sign-off). The movers are hired to load the POD. I've started looking for housing and child care in Portland, or at least putting out feelers. My (unsold, sigh) condo is 90% packed, and I'd say about 50% of my stuff has been moved from CV's back to the condo to be loaded into the POD. (About the POD: I really appreciated all the moving suggestions. I was very excited to use ABF U-Pack—so cheap!—but I couldn't get permission to have that huge truck parked on my busy, narrow residential street, alas. Seems like a great service, though.) I am making plans for going away parties on a kid-friendly and grown-up level.

And I have made plans to see some friends. The experience of seeing friends to say goodbye before I move reminds me of the intense weeks leading up to John's death. Once we knew that the end was near, we felt pressured to see everyone, do everything, be everywhere. At the same time, we felt like closing ourselves off and avoiding everyone and everything, because every goodbye was like opening the wound and facing the reality that John was really going to be gone, and soon. While not nearly so dramatic considering that I will still be alive and that I'm leaving Boston for a good reason and that my friends will visit and all that, there's still a painful element to these "final" meetings with friends. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I'm leaving a place that I lived for ten years, the place that I met John, the place that I built my career, the place my kids were born, a place that's filled with some of my best friends.

You'd think that bumbling through my days—dealing with logistics, putting things in boxes, making plans—would make the move seem very real. And they do. But they make the good things about the move seem real. While I pack, I think of living near my parents, of what I'll wear to my new job, of what our new house will be like. I'm excited about those things. But seeing friends and wondering when I'll get to see them again, that makes the move seem real on the flip side. That forces me to think of what I'm leaving behind, which is hard. This is what is known as bittersweet, right? I've always been a milk chocolate kind of girl.

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Dealing with months of unsorted and unposted photos is on my to-do list, and when I get to that, I'll post some pics of Florida. But for now, I leave you with a funny quote from Riley, who said, upon seeing his reflection in the mirror of our Tampa hotel room: "HEY! I know that guy!"

Heh heh. You sure do!

In which all is revealed in the world's most scattered post

Back in January, I wrote a post about why I was not ready to move back home to Oregon. One of my main concerns about moving back was a lack of jobs in the publishing industry. Commenter Ann Ominous posted a link to a job at Reed College. I checked it out. Seemed too good to be true. Reed was looking for a Managing Editor, someone to supervise the staff of people who are responsible for all print communication that leaves the college, someone who could also do some hands-on editorial work.

Um, hi, I'd be really good at that.

So I sent in my resume.

And guess what? I guess it wasn't too good to be true, because three and a half months later, that job is mine. Ann, I don't know where you live, but if there's any chance I could take you out for dinner, let me know. It's no exaggeration to say that you changed my life.

The interview process was long; I did three phone interviews and then went out for a campus visit. I love the people I met and will be working with, I love the campus, and I think I will love the job. I know I will love living near my family, and I know it will be hard to say goodbye to Boston.

I've been consumed with the idea of this job and the process of getting it since I sent in my resume via overnight mail way back in late January. It's the reason I've been posting less—it's all I've been able to think about, and I didn't feel like I could blog about it until I had a firm yay or nay. Getting that firm answer took way longer than I expected it took, and, too be fair, way longer than Reed wanted it to. In any case, I got the yay late last week, but there were a bunch of folks I needed to tell in person before I could post about it, and the very celebratory Florida trip interfered with getting the word out. But the word is now out: Oregon, here we come!

For the sake of myself and anyone in my life who has experienced significant hardship, I've often wished that there were a check and balance system controlling the events of our lives. When a really sucky thing happens, I feel like it would be nice to be able to count on a really wonderful thing happening to balance it out. (Of course, when a wonderful thing happens, you hardly want to be waiting for the awful to come as its counterweight, but . . . clearly, my system needs some refinements.) I confess that since John died, part of me has been waiting for some unexpectedly wonderful turn of events to befall Maddie, Riley, and me. This job is it. Nothing can make up for John's death, of course, but I'm still pinching myself to make sure I didn't dream this situation up. Job in my field? Check. In the city in which I want to live? Check. Amazing benefits? Check. Relocation package? Check.

And get this: I got laid off on Wednesday. Doesn't life work in mysterious ways? Now I have time to prep for our move, which is nice because HOLY CRAP there is a lot to do to get ready to move cross-country. So far I have:

• talked to my realtor about a strategy to move my condo (read: lower the effing price even more, sigh)
• arranged for all of our medical records to be sent to OR
• booked our flights to OR
• gotten quotes from three movers
• picked up a bunch of boxes

I have a long way to go. I guess it will all get done somehow. At least now I can blog about it. I've felt so deceitful!

Who's moved cross-country? Any good moving tips? Last time I moved, all my stuff fit in my car. That's just not true anymore. I'm thinking of using PODS, or some similar service, as it's much cheaper than traditional movers. Experiences—good or bad—with that? All advice appreciated. You guys know how much I love to steal the ideas of others!

Confidential to Portland bloggers: We should start planning a meetup!

Confidential to Idol fans: Kris is in the finals?! KRIS?!?! This might be my last season as an Idol fan.

Better Day

Today is a much better day. Actually, I was feeling much better by the time I left work yesterday. How could I not be when my evening-into-morning included:

• spaghetti dinner, complete with kids trying to twirl spaghetti and getting sauce all over their faces and hands and hair and bibs and . . .
  
• hassle-free bedtime
  
• my dad's flight arriving 40 minutes early
  
• my dad arriving!
  
• a large bowl of chocolate/peanut butter ice cream
  
• a decent night's sleep
  
• a three-mile run with a friend
  
• hearing the kids speculate about who was going to get them out of bed ("Ba gonna come get us! No, no, my mama gonna come! No, my mama! Maybe ALL OF THEM gonna come!")
  
• seeing the kids' faces light up when they saw Ba
  
• watching my dad interact with the kids
  
• breakfast from Panera
  
• a quiet day at work
  

The quiet day at work is a mixed blessing, of course. It may well be that when I return to work on Tuesday, the only reason I'll be there is to pick up my paycheck and clean out my office. I am having a hard time being all that stressed out about the near-certainty of losing my job. I think I'm just saving the stress for when it happens.

I have plenty to do tonight to get ready for Florida. I'm really looking forward to hot, hot weather, pool time, coconut shrimp at least twice a day, and, of course, spending Mother's Day with three generations of moms and four generations of family. Let's not think about the fact that I have not done a damn thing as far as getting Mother's Day cards or gifts for the moms that are not me. Huh. My complete paralysis around gift-giving, seemingly brought on by widowhood, is a post in and of itself.  

Happy weekend, one and all. I'll try to get some good pictures of the kiddos in Florida. Maddie and Riley are both obsessed with the pool right now, so we should have lots of photo opps.

Today is hard.

Today is hard. My litany of complaints is no different than anyone else's. The specifics might vary, but it's the same old stuff: I'm tired, I'm worried about my job, I continue to fret about Maddie's behavior, I wish that Riley weren't chronically constipated, I fear that my condo will never sell, I'm stressed about getting ready for our Florida trip (even though I'm seriously excited for the trip itself).

Oh, and I miss John. 

Something made me think of wedding anniversaries last night. I don't remember what. The milestone dates since John's death have generally not been any harder for me than other days since he died, but our anniversary is the exception to that. There's of course no guarantee that if John had been healthy, we would have stayed married for years and years and years. Everyone wants to believe that theirs is the marriage for the ages. My feeling that John and I would have been that doting, still-in-love-after-fifty-plus-years-together couple is the same feeling that everyone else has when they first get married.

But I never got to find out. I never got to have that unfold. In fact, I never got to experience the regular old ups and downs of married life because three weeks after we tied the knot, John got his terminal diagnosis. I wrote our thank-you notes in the chemo ward. I remember sitting on the couch in our apartment the day after John got his diagnosis, looking down at my still-near-perfect wedding pedicure and thinking, "The paint on my toenails isn't even chipped yet. How can this be happening?" So trivial and silly, but true.

And yet things do happen and they did happen and so our entire marriage was cancer this and chemo that and MRIs here and CTs there and tumor markers and acupuncture. It was also love and support and caring of the highest order, because like any major stress in life, what John and I went through was the kind of thing that either brings you as close together as two people can be or completely drives you apart. Clearly, it brought us together, which just solidifies my feeling that we would have celebrated many years of joy and sorrow together if that had been the hand that we'd been dealt.

What this means for me is that my lack of an anniversary brings up a lot of bitterness for me, and I get unbearably, irrationally jealous of people who are celebrating any anniversaries, but especially milestone anniversaries: 5, 10, 20, 25, more years. I want to be celebrating like that. Wedding anniversaries turn me into a bitter, grief-bloated shrew. Not that today is even my anniversary! Or a friend's anniversary (that I know of; if it is: happy anniversary)! It's just on my mind, for whatever reason.

My dad's arrival tonight will make things easier. My dad is great. He is probably the best listener I know. He is completely without judgment and always supportive and encouraging. It will be extra-great to have his help on the trip down to Florida on Friday. Of course, I have trip concerns, too; my grandmother, who is 90 (!) and lives in an assisted living facility in Tampa, has had in the past few days a sudden onset of memory issues. She's having trouble, for example, remembering basic things like what floor her apartment is on. I'm so glad we planned this trip so that she will get to see the twins and we will all get to see her but it could be a difficult trip.

For now, though, on with the day, grateful for the catharsis of the blog.

Thanks, plus: Maddie

Thank you to everyone who contributed some great ideas for the Hallmark book. And for those of you who were affronted that I asked for help, I hear you. 

I'm about 1/4 of the way through the writing, which is great. I'm trying to plow through as much as I can before I take the twins to Florida this weekend to see my grandmother. My mom and dad (who, some of you know or may recall, are divorced and have been for over 30 years) are both meeting us down there for a long weekend of Mother's Day/Mama Doris-is-turning-(turned?)-90 fun. Maddie and Riley don't know we're going yet; I usually tell them about trips the night before we leave to save my own sanity from the barrage of travel-related questions. I'm sure they are going to have a blast in Florida, as they are really into swimming lately. Bring on the sun! 

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I've heard from many a parent that "Terrible Twos" is a misnomer, that the Terrible title should be reserved for the Threes. Based on Maddie's behavior of late, she's trying to spread the Terrible around to both ages. 

My normally sweet, eager-to-please girl has found her rebellious side. She's been pushing, throwing things, and slamming doors. The culmination of this was last Friday at school when Ruth reported that Maddie had (a) thrown her shoes at one of her caregivers, then (b) run down the hall and slammed the bathroom door, whereupon she (c) deliberately peed all over herself.

Just what you want to hear when you pick your kid up from school. Sigh.

I feel for her; she's obviously going through a developmental phase that's got her tied up in knots. While she's always been quite verbal and emotionally aware, she doesn't seem to be able to tell me what's bothering her. Hell, there are plenty of times when I'm out of sorts when I can't vocalize what's wrong and I've got a lot more life experience than she does. She has of late been even more interested than usual in things that older kids do that she can't yet and she spends a lot of time expressing desires to attend the local elementary school, read by herself, swim by herself, ride a bike by herself . . . you get the idea. So I think some of her acting out comes from wanting to do things that she can't. Beyond that, who knows. It could be a delayed reaction to adjusting to our new living situation. It could be the inherent angst of being almost three. It could be a desire to get some one-on-one time with me, something neither Maddie or Riley has really ever had.

To that end, tonight I'm dropping Riley off with friends after school and I'm taking Maddie out for a special Maddie and Mama evening. I'm not sure what we're going to do yet as I plan to let her take the lead, but my suggestions will be that we go have dinner together, then maybe go to the store for her to pick out a special treat—some new art supplies or something for her beloved baby Charlotte or what have you. We'll see what she wants to do.

The difficulty of spending one-on-one time with Maddie and Riley is something that has always bothered me. I think all parents of more than one child can relate. M&R have to take turns being carried, take turns on my lap, take turns talking to me (although they often talk right over one another, I just have to mete out my replies one by one). The only times they have spent time alone with me in their entire lives have been two occasions each that one has stayed home sick and the other has gone to school, and the random snippets here and there when one gets up from a nap earlier than the other. That's all. Ever.

Those rare times have been a treat for me. It's such a pleasure for me to be able to focus on one child without worrying about how my actions will affect the other. Maddie and Riley have seemed to enjoy it, too. Of course, at least half of what they say when we're alone involves wondering where the other one is, which I actually love. It makes me happy that they have such a close bond. But I also think it's time for me to make a more conscious effort to give them individual time with me. It's not easy, logistically, but I think it will be well worth it.