I'm here for my Appointment

I just received a link to this story that confirms that blogging is good for you. It's therapeutic.
Hot Dang! I'm here today for some therapy, folks...


Maybe someone out there has moved with a husband like mine before and we can swap notes. Some of my notes (for the Sexy man who sucks at moving):

• Never ever EVER move a china cabinet with some of the china pieces in it to save time...
• If the wife says, "I only want the big furniture items moved today by this group of burly men", this does not translate into: "Please pack my kitchen into plastic bags for transport and then allow men and their wives to drink and spill tea in the new kitchen that took me TWELVE hours to get to my standard of clean".
• If you have ten days to do said move, and have no wardrobes or closets in the house you are moving to, the clothes hanging in the former closets can probably stay there a little longer than the rest of your items. Watching people trample nice clothes tends to make the wife grumpier than usual.

• Hear me. Hear me. Hear me. Chances are, the question you are debating (like, "Hmmm, I wonder if she wants me to leave her Cherrywood chest that holds all of the quilts behind and instead take all of the camping gear to the house?") was already answered in a previous discussion that you mentally checked out of....

Wow, they're right. I do feel better.

This move was nearly the end of our marriage. There's a lot of bitterness on my part for being the person left behind to handle numerous moves.

If you're short on time, here's the cliff notes for the following: Blah, blah blah, whinge and whine.

In the 12 years of my marriage, I have moved house 8 times. The first one, The Hubby was not even slightly around for (he was in Texas being shouted at by a Drill Sergeant , so I forgave him for leaving me with a kid and so much to deal with) (but yes, he knew MONTHS before when he would be gone and took care of NOTHING before he left). He actually had the nerve to complain that his favorite (and very ugly shoes) had gone missing....

The next move was into a cave-like apartment, which I did newly pregnant. We moved around his work shifts. I began having complications shortly thereafter.... hmmm, a link?
We then were given a house on base. 8 months pregnant and I was packing and hauling boxes.

Pregnant again (I know, birth control), we moved overseas. He was busy doing out-processing, so I was left to deal with the movers. Do you know how movers treat "the little woman"? They patronize her. They ignore everything she says and tell her that they know best-- like putting The Hubby's bowling ball on top of a lamp shade in the same box is best!
I watched in horror what was happening to my things and hated my husband for leaving it to me, the pregnant one with two kids and a dog in the way.

In the Azores, once again there's nothing on base for us and we find a place 30 minutes from his work. In the middle of no where. I supervise the move in. There's things broken, but I speak no Portuguese and the movers speak little English.
Moving onto the base, I am -- you guessed it, supervising a move and even more pregnant.

When we left the Azores, I supervised the movers... while the husband out-processed.

Seeing a pattern? (Or did you fall asleep?) Well I did-- FINALLY (see a pattern I mean-- I'm too stupid to fall asleep because I am getting therapy right now). And I begin to get a little bitter.

Oh, and for THAT move-- the one where I have 6 packers in all different rooms (huge no-no, they're supposed to stay in the room you are in for supervision, but the hubby is not there, I have three kids and a dog and speak only broken Portuguese) and he calls to say "Don't let them pack my work backpack, it has my headset in it (for controlling traffic)". I walk to the closet and guess what? It's packed. I had to convince the guys to open boxes and look for it. When it was found and they had cussed me in a foreign language, I sat outside (supervising no one now) with the kids and dog and cried. I didn't feel that much better after they left and discovered they had packed my butter dish with a full stick of butter... somewhere in the crates going to New Mexico....

So, if you're really counting, there's the move onto the NM base, and then from the base into the house we bought. I was...yes, pregnant. I packed the boxes, I carried the boxes, I sanded paneling and primed it for paint. I painted it. All while he worked. Could he get days off?
No, according to him.
You can't just ask for leave or anything...


THIS move. I wanted to do it on the 9th, but his job said, "No way, how about the 3rd?" which was the exact day J2 would be hosting a French student we had signed up for months prior.
That is why I was hauling kids around and my husband and three guys (and two of the wives who came to 'visit' them) moved even my trash over to the house that is HALF the size of
what we were leaving--
I am now swimming in boxes-- and bags, thank you very much-- of too much crap. Crap I wanted to sort and purge before it came. Crap I was going to move over here methodically and put away in the furniture pieces that usually house all of the crap. Pardon my crappy language.

All of a sudden, I don't feel as good as I was when I began this tirade...


The article did say that reading other people's blogs were beneficial as well, so tell me.... What have you got for me today? I'll swing around in the morning (your middle of the night).





The French kids walking through Thetford forest. I DID NOT sepia tone this photo-- it really looked like this!