Judgement Day is inevitable.
– Terminator 3
Two days left before the move and I’m sitting in the living room surrounded by boxes, bubble wrap, sheets of cardboard and shreds of packing material. I can’t find anything except dust bunnies. Although thank goodness Husband still manages to locate a screwdriver or glue gun when he needs one. It’s a relief.
The only reason the sofa isn’t packed is that, in my current condition, getting out of a bean bag involves some applied input from Husband to achieve output and frankly he has enough to be getting along with.
Bless him: I have no idea where he finds the energy. In addition to working a full-time job, Andrew has wrapped, stacked and labelled anything not nailed to the floor; transferred it to the upper garage; finalized the house purchase; sold his boat; and yet has still faithfully watched all the All Black’s matches except the one against Canada and even I couldn’t see the point in that unless you were so bored the only alternative was clipping your own toenails.
I’m trying to keep pace with the boxing, but have slowed down a lot in the last couple of weeks – Andrew might say CONVENIENTLY. But really, at the moment, I can wrap about three plates and a coaster before I have to take a nap. Exhaustion seems to accompany spurts of activity from The Asset and for the last while he has been making really quite admirable efforts to kick me in the shins.
However, I did make a major contribution to proceedings by calling every packing company, moving business, freight specialists and guys with vans, trailers and/or wheelbarrows in New Zealand. The cheapest quote for a door-to-door move was $3000 + GST, but we could hire a container in Spring Creek and have it relocated by rail to Oamaru for around $1200 inclusive.
Originally, Andrew planned to ferry our stuff into Spring Creek on a trailer. I was concerned he had underestimated the volume of our possessions, while overestimating the capacity of Sherriff’s trailer (assuming Sherriff allowed us borrow it in the first place). But despite Andrew being more concerned about dust from the gravel road getting into his stereo system, he was undeterred.
This changed after he experienced some twangs out of his back – trying to extricate me from the nether regions of bean bags – and we decided to hire a local moving company to transfer our things from Port Underwood to Spring Creek.
Evidently this plan is imminently sensible as befitting our status-in-transition to responsible parents who file early tax returns; but I’m also optimistic the movers will be beefcake eye-candy with winning smiles and rippling muscles.
Past experience suggests they will more likely be exceedingly sweaty with rippling paunches.
Chances are they’ll also probably grunt inappropriately.