Winds of Change

Moving. It's kind of like childbirth. You forget how horrible it is until you find yourself in the middle of it again. And moving in Phoenix in August is kind of like giving birth without an epidural. It is pure misery. That moving truck was literally a sauna. I thought I was prepared for moving day and I envisioned all of Wes' young men carrying my meticulously organized boxes out to the truck and being delivered to their carefully labelled destinations in the new place. Turns out 17 year olds don't get very excited about moving stuff on hot summer days, and only one showed up. Who can blame them? Thankfully some kind family members came to our rescue and also brought a few neighbors from the south to assist us. I was reluctant to have strangers in my home transporting all my personal affects at first, but as the temperature inched past 110, I got over that real quick. And when my underwear drawer accidentally dumped out, and when Wes insisted that we take out my night stand drawers to make the trip up the stairs easier, I became glad that the chances of me ever seeing these nice fellows again was zero. And I was also grateful to have completely forgotten all of my college Spanish, so I had no idea what was being said amidst the chuckles.

We have water, electricity, food in the fridge and enough essentials unpacked that the boys have made it to school dressed and have found pencils to complete homework. The kids have handled the move better than I expected. I feel like I have been drinking from a fire hose in trying to prioritize all the stuff involved in moving a family of five and still meet the emotional needs of the kids, while dealing with a variety of personal side dramas at the same time. But alas, we are grateful to have a roof over our heads and to be adjusting to our new life. I've alerted the Queen Creek Fry's to ramp up the cheese bagel production, because the Whittakers are in the hood for good now.

We miss our ward and neighbors terribly, but are having a non-stop party with the Haws'. I totally underestimated the awesomeness of living so close to my sister. I hope that our distance isn't too much of a deterrent for visitors. It's weird how quickly I have become used to it. It's just like people who can't believe that we spend THREE HOURS at church on Sundays. It's just what we do. And now I spend half hour in the car to go anywhere. Whatever. It's seems worth it for the half price sale on the homes in this neck of the woods.

My fatigue is evident by the rambling nature of the post, but in closing (This is sounding like a church talk now.) I want to first and foremost give a sincere thanks to those family members who have made this move possible for us. We love and appreciate you more than you know.

And secondly, I must address the vinyl sign controversy. Do you keep "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" on the master bedroom wall when you know that the marriage of the previous owners sadly only lasted 8 months?

Wes' initial suggested alterations were not acceptable.

We both agreed this was cool and had the best chance for staying.

Maybe I would like it better white on tan?

Nope. The wall is tan now. A vinyl a sign a marriage does not make. You can quote me on that if you want and don't ever accuse me of not tackling the tough issues.