I got home from Florida at 9 PM Saturday night.Â I’d been fielding phone calls for a week from the SO that ranged from pathetic whines about how much there was to unpack to nasty calls about how I abandoned him when he needed me.Â That one got him hung up on until he remember how to act civil and remembered who it was exactly who scheduled the moving date for the only days when I could not help.Â Hint – it wasn’t me.
From the amount of whining I thought he was getting everything put away and was tired of doing it all.Â He had the movers to help unpack and he had my parents for one day to set up the electronics and the kitchen.Â So I was
pissed right off a touch nonplussed to come to a totally trashed house.
I woke up Sunday morning and told him that Drill Sargent Heather was here and this house would be ship shape that day.Â It was mostly stupid stuff.Â All the afghans and quilts were jumbled on the couch and they were sitting on top of it all instead of being folded up and hung on the quilt rack conveniently sitting two feet away.Â I just put things away.Â Not hard.Â If certain people had quit bitching and did something for the week I was gone, it would have been over.Â Total time until the kitchen,Â living room, family room, and dining room had everything put away?Â Two hours.Â That’s it.Â Then I almost did kill him dead.
We spent some time shopping for a washer and dryer and other odds and ends we needed.Â
When it got dark I tried to turn on the lamps in the living room.Â No lights.Â Plugged in? Check.Â Is this a switched outlet? I don’t think so.Â Nope, there were no bulbs in the lamps.Â Right then he walked in.
Me:Â “Have you been sitting in the dark for a week?”
Him: “No…” like he wasn’t sure of the answer I wanted.
“Can you go get the bulbs for these?”
“They are downstairs.”
Then I stared at him.Â “Can you get them?”
“You act like I’m stupid or something.”
Um, if the shoe fits.
Normally he is completely capable of taking care of himself like a grown-up human.Â Apparently moving made him mentally curl up in a fetal position.Â
I haven’t started unpacking the other rooms yet and I’m saving setting up the sewing room as a reward.Â I’m back at the old house for a few days to work then I’ll work on another room.Â It isn’t hard.
I haven’t moved since 1965 and if I have my way, my next move will be to the rest home …or funeral home. Makes me tired to even think of moving!
Moving is the worst. I typically move once every year and it is a time that I dread to have to do.