NyQuil, Napping & Power Tools: How Not To Move Like A Pro

The only part of my house that is organized.

 

 

NyQuil, Napping & Power Tools: How Not To Move Like A Pro

I write a blog that often talks about home organization.

So how is it I am the kind of person who has called 1-800-GOT-JUNK twice in the last few years? This means I have paid money twice for the junk I have – once to buy it and again to have it taken away.

How is it I am also now on a first name basis with the guy who collects donations at Goodwill? A guy who knows my name, when I’m moving, where I’m moving and has opinions about all of it.

Well, except for my name. The only person I’ve ever met who had an opinion about my name was a student several years ago. He was from the United Arab Emirates, and he simply could not bring himself to call me “Susan” as this was apparently also the name of his family’s favorite camel.

Huh. Who knew? As Murphy is to American dogs, Susan is to Arabic camels. The Goodwill guy didn’t share this kind of information with me. But it’s about the only thing he hasn’t shared. Because I see him several times a day. Every time I drop off yet another load of stuff.

Moving day is Friday.

I think of myself as an organized, take charge, plan-out-the-strategy kind of girl. This move is proving otherwise.

This became apparent when the 1-800-GOT-JUNK man stood in our basement, scratching his head over the pool table.

We inherited the rickety pool table from the previous owner. Because apparently it’s too big to fit out any of the doors. This would have been good to know before we called GOT JUNK to take it away.

But I didn’t know this and, worse, had just taken a massive dose of NyQuil to clear up my cold-addled head. NyQuil doesn’t exactly help with critical thinking, which my next actions proved.

I sent the junk man away and immediately took a nap.

I now have a well-rested, cold-addled head, an enormous pool table stuck in the basement and a clock that’s ticking on the move.

Luckily, I also have the number of the best handyman in all of metro Denver. His name is Henry. Henry is 50. He has more tattoos than you can count and a truck with wheels taller than my 7 year old. Henry also makes house calls on short notice and owns every power tool known to man.

On home fixing matters, I try to not sweat it until Henry tells me I should. So we’ve got Henry coming over to deal with the pool table. And I’m pretty sure he can make it right. At least right-er than I could, armed with NyQuil and a power saw.

Henry is going on my thankful list this week. So are my mom friends who’ve volunteered to drive the Dynamic Duo places and sent encouraging texts. So is my mom herself who left a roasted chicken dinner warming in our oven last night, pretty much the only reason any of us got fed.

And my dad whose driven to more soccer games and birthday parties than you can count. And our honorary aunt and uncle who are young and hip and foolish enough to have volunteered to take the Dynamic Duo to a corn maze this weekend. Clearly, they have never experienced the autumnal joy of getting lost in a corn maze with sneezing children. But they will. While I experience the joy of unpacking… in a house… with a basement that doesn’t have a pool table stuck in it.

Thanks for the well wishes on the move, guru girls & guys! Hopefully I won't be radio-silent on the blog front -- but it might depend on Wi-Fi connections, about the only home item Henry can't help us with. (If you live in the metro area and want Henry's phone number, let me know. I will give it to you in exchange for opening only a few boxes.)