Number Fifteen

In my adult life I have moved a total of fourteen times.

Fourteen including two bi-coastal, cross country treks. I am an expert at driving a car with one hand while holding on to a mattress inadequately tied to the roof. I have shoved an entire studio apartment into two steamer trucks that I single handedly ferried and boarded onto an overbooked Amtrak train. One of which I sat on for twelve hours, half blocking the mens room door.

I once moved two city blocks with only a small handcart in the middle of a Philadelphia heat wave, but never ever have I gone through anything that is going on right now. Things that I have learned in the past two weeks:

  • We own approximately 4,685,330,129,902 hair bands
  • A three year old can unpack a box much faster than you can load it especially if she believes that she can fit inside it.
  • Box forts. Enough said.
  • There is, apparently, such a thing as too many books
  • A twenty year old cat that screams shrilly when not actively sitting on your lap DOES NOT LIKE any of this

Two more days and then we get to do it all in reverse. I’m going to start throwing out some hairbands.

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