Worse than the pits! Moving is more like one bottomless pit FULL of pits.
Especially when you only have four days left to live.
And you're cleaning out your kids rooms. sniff. sniff. sniff.
Moving makes you do the darndest things. Things you normally wouldn't be caught dead doing, like drinking diet cherry Coke and cleaning your house.
And you start taking three showers a day.
And saying words you've never said before. (Well I don't, but my hub does.)
Moving makes you confront your abandonment issues. My poor movers. I call them several times a day. "Ronnie, you're going to show up on our moving day, right? right? right? You're not going to leave me high and dry, are you? Cross your heart and hope to die? Pinky promise you're not just using me for my money and my stuff?"
Thank goodness he is so patient and reassures me that he is also using me for my personality.
Moving also turns you into a flaming manic depressive. One minute you're in a state of euphoria because you're finally getting rid of all your kids junk. It's so liberating. You flit and flutter around like a ballerina doing a softener sheet commercial. Then suddenly you're doing a face plant into the unfolded laundry, bawling your brains out. Every stray Pokemon card, every broken pencil, every rusted trophy holds the fondest memories.
You feel powerless, like trying to hold water in a net.
And yet powerful, because who wants to hold water in a net anyway? It will only slip away. And turn the dirt beneath your feet into mud. Mud which you'll later track through your house. Which you'll then have to steam vac out of your carpet . . .
You get me?
Moving also makes you soft. You can hardly believe how many people lub you and want to help you or hug you or cry in your arms because you're going or shout hosannah because you're coming.
But mostly moving makes you tough.
Remember last week when I was boobing about Kahuku High refusing to let my daughter come on campus because there are no visitors allowed during the first week of school?
Well today I called back to ask if my son could visit and guess what they said? "Sure! As long as he has never attended school here before."
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . soooooo, does he get to keep his Red Raiders for LIFE T-shirt?"
I wasn't about to burst into tears this time, baby! Instead I raised my fist to the sky and said, "As Gad as my witness, he WILL say goodbye to his friends at school!"
And then I did what I should have done in the first place. I went undercover and incognito and went through the back channels and the back door and through the underground railroad until I finally secured a freakin' visitor pass for my son.
MAHALO NUI LOA!