It Just Don’t Quit

This move has been the longest in terms of time invested and one of the shortest distance-wise since one of my cross-town moves in college. The San Francisco move of my crap from a friend’s garage on Fell to Stanyan/Carl in ’98 doesn’t count because I was sleeping on the floor of his music room for only a couple of weeks. But I mention it because I moved all my crap in a half day and did it all by myself. It wasn’t a tenth of the crap that we have now, but I’m always proud of what I got done that moving day. And I’m proud of not busting a scrotal vessel.

In contrast, this move just doesn’t seem to end. I still can’t find critical cabling or connectors. I cannot function without my cables and connectors.

I think this move was compounded by our combined OCD levels of leaving our old house better than we found it and doing a bunch of renovation work on the new house in the middle of trying to move in.

The garage is still full of crap. I’d post a picture, but it’s too embarassing. I’m waiting for a knock on the door from a neighbor to ask if we’d like to donate the contents of the garage to charity.

In terms of saying goodbye to the old house, I was having regular moments of awwwww until the buyer’s inspector caught a couple of mis-wired plugs that our inspector hadn’t caught when we bought the place. When I was fixing the outlets, I smacked my head a few times on the basement ductwork causing a few special daddy words. George smacked his head a few times as well, but he didn’t use special daddy words. I realized that my awwww moments would be less about the house we have left than the memories we made there. My head definitely doesn’t miss the old house. We brought Leta into this world in that house and endured a lot of pain, love, growing and sweetness. It was the first house that either Heather or I had owned and we loved living there.

Yesterday we had the walkthrough with the buyer’s realtor and I just couldn’t see us living there now. This new house is starting to feel more and more like our place. And I’m loving the light in this house. It’s just so different to have large windows that let a ton of light in. I was feeling pretty good this morning. And then my wife up and left for San Francisco to get her ovaries charged by holding Hank Mason. The next months will be difficult for our family as Heather fixates on ways to convince me it is time for another child in the house. I don’t have ovaries, but that Mason kid is helping me grow a pair. If it keeps up, maybe Heather and I can have a baster baby, lesbian style…

We’re trying to hold it down here, but with Leta’s attitude and George’s fatal attraction to ESPN, I’m in way over my head.

While we do semi-secretly employ George, as his supervisor, I can’t control his off-the-clock time like his cousin can.

As much as I want Heather to have a great time in San Francisco, it’s getting harder and harder to wrangle Leta solo. Leta has a special bond with Heather that I’ll never fully understand. Heather can simply say a few words quietly and Leta will calm down a bit. I’ll try to muster all my Peace Process/SALT/Kyoto negotiating power, but it’s difficult when one realizes that a three-year old works on entirely different levels than the diplomatic corps. I’m going to have to hone the zen master inside me and use the power of calm assertive energy. And time outs. And black licorice for good things.

And bourbon at the end of each day. I miss you already, baby.

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