|"I got a feeling....today is gonna be a great day!!"|
Many of you saw the pic I had posted on Instagram first thing this morning. A lovely shot of the sunrise, no filters or anything, a depiction of all the hope and beauty that could be possible in a day. This was Moving Day and we were wildly optimistic about getting our things out of crates and into our new abode.
(Yes, I know, I still have to finish the story of how we got the new abode, but this is my blog, and I can post whatever I want. Quit being all judge-y and stuff!)
The girls, decked out in their uniforms, had happily boarded the schoolbus, leaving Hubby and me to breakfast leisurely and complete a few tasks before the movers were to arrive. I checked my email.
"Oh shit, NO!"
"What? What's wrong?"
"Color Day isn't next week, it's TODAY!!!!"
Color Day is when the kids are allowed to wear their own clothes to school. No uniforms. No closed-toed shoes. Socks optional. Usually it is done as a charity event, the children paying a small fee for the privilege of donning their own duds.
Miss Priss was absent from the last Color Day back when she was bedridden from the plague. And she's been lamenting about it ever since.
"I'm the WORST MOM EVER!!!" I cried.
Technically, it was the teacher's fault. (And when we find them on a pool at 22, that'll be the teacher's fault, too.) Prissy's teacher had sent a note home originally saying Color Day and a few other events would be on 10/22 (today!), but she had scratched off the date and written "10/28" above. Enraged for making me the Worst Mom Ever, I emailed her teacher, and quickly learned of the mix-up.
This day was not starting off on a good foot.
Shaking off my Worst Mom Blahs, I went with Hubs to the new house, both of us anxiously anticipating the arrival of the movers.
The cleaning ladies who had been there yesterday had done a pretty good job, and the majority of the dust and grime were gone.
And the fumigation?
"They weren't able to do it last night," our realtor informed us. "They'll have to do it today."
Oh. So now we were going to have dead bugs hiding under our furniture. OK, at least they'd still be dead!
Hubster kept in touch with the moving company, trying to determine when they would arrive.
|This day required a margarita for lunch!|
10:00 am - "We're loading up the truck right now."
11:30 am - "We're loading up, we'll be there at 1."
2:00 pm - "The truck is broken, we've rented another one and will move your crates onto it."
|Can I get the rest of that Margarita to go? Why, sure!|
Lies. All lies.
Turns out the moving company was also moving one of Hubster's co-workers (who is also our hotel neighbors.) And they only had one truck to do both jobs. Hubs kept in touch with his co-worker, though, and learned that they only had 1/3 of their household goods. And what they had didn't match.
"We've got half of a bedframe, a table with no legs, we have stuff, but we can't put any of this stuff together."
The truck, it seems, was actually broken (or maybe they had a third family?), but by then, we'd had enough.
"Just finish with the other house first," Hubby told the woman on the phone. "Each of us having half our stuff is not helpful. Finish with them, and come do ours tomorrow."
She agreed so readily, that I was convinced our stuff had never made it onto a truck.
It was 3:00. There was just enough time to run to The Embassy and pick up our mail. We had run out of cereal and a few other supplies that I had ordered weeks ago. They should be here by now, we surmised.
I made the trip solo, wondering how I would get all the boxes from the mailroom to the car.
There were two. A long thin one from Amazon, and a medium one from Walmart. Not nearly as much as I expected, but that Walmart one was exactly the size of cereal boxes.
The long, flat one was a pair of angel wings for Prissy's Halloween costume.
The cereal-sized Walmart one contained three small boxes of chewable Tylenol, necessary, yes, but not at this very moment.
Meanwhile, Hubster had run over to the cable company to sign us up for internet and television services (they insisted this had to be done in person, not over the phone.)
"I need your passport."
"Here's my Honduran ID card."
"But I have to have your passport."
So here we are. Colorless. Homeless. Breakfastless. Cableless.
But I see red skies tonight, which can only mean one thing for tomorrow.....