1 Mother 2 Another

We’re in our final week here in New
York City – we fly out on Saturday to Texas, though the
movers come on Friday to pick up all our stuff. Truthfully my state
of mind right now is two parts panic, one part shock, and seven
parts denial.


I’ve been packing for ages, it feels, though in truth
it’s only been a few months; we packed up some boxes when we
put the house on the market in July to “declutter” it,
then started packing in earnest after Thanksgiving and discovered
the clutter had crept right back in. I kept thinking a month and a
half would be enough time to get it all done, but I’m packing
maybe three boxes a day and at this rate will not be moving until
April.

Every morning I wake up determined to
renew my efforts and really knock out a big chunk of packing during
the day. But every time I can’t seem to get in the groove and
get it done. I’ve got so many strikes against me (I whine);
it’s impossible to pack while watching both girls because
Cora puts everything in her mouth and Maddie is like a skittish
colt these days, sensing something’s not right but unable to
figure out what’s wrong. Madeleine’s bouncing off the
walls, which are rapidly closing in on her as the boxes mount, and
needs a fair amount of undivided attention throughout the day;
playing that old game of “Watch Mommy Wrap Vases” just
isn’t doing for her any more.


Which means that my prime packing times are during her naps, after
Brian gets off work, and after the girls go to bed. During
Maddie’s nap time, I’m praying that Cora will sleep as
well. Sometimes she’ll go down and I’ll get an hour of
work done without either one, but most times I’m holding Cora
the whole afternoon. I’ll plop Cora on the floor to play at
my feet for a bit, but that quickly becomes old and she begins
whining or stuffing dessicated Craisins in her mouth that
she’s dug out from under the cabinets. At least I hope
they’re Craisins. Either way, she can’t have them.


So I’ll pick Cora up and strap her on, which makes her happy
but then severely limits my packing since I can’t bend over
much with it and can’t handle fragile or sharp objects. Add
to all of this the Quiet Component – the need to keep
everything very hush-hush so Maddie sleeps so I don’t have to
entertain her . . . and not much gets done.


Then there’s after dinner, and that’s the Golden Hour
of packing. It’s the one time of day that I don’t have
to watch the girls when they’re both awake and I can 1) make
noise, 2) pack in their rooms, and 3) walk away from them safely. I
just get into my groove with the packing, though, when it’s
bedtime.


Of course, after bedtime I’m confined to the front half of
the basement for packing, since the back half is under their rooms
and completely un-soundproofed and upstairs is totally out. So I
drag as much downstairs as possible to work on after they’re
in bed, pack until around 1 a.m. and stumble to bed.


All that’s a very long, boring, self-pitying explanation for
why I’m so far behind. I’ve already resigned myself to
paying the movers to pack our dishes and such, but I can see
it’s going to be far more than that. My good friend Ingrid
has come over a few times with Naomi so the girls can play while we
pack, and she’s even brought her mom to corral Cora so we can
really concentrate. These days have saved my bacon. And my
girlfriend Abby’s coming over tomorrow for the same thing,
while half a dozen church friends volunteered today to help
throughout the week.


Truthfully, the thing I need most right now is childcare, and the
frustrating reality is that there aren’t many people who can
provide it. Maddie needs someone she likes to play games with, and
Cora needs, well, Mommy, and there aren’t many acceptable
substitutes out there (acceptable to her, of course, not me!) so I
plug away as best I can.


Madeleine, bless her heart, tries to help me, and I’m forever
finding an Elmo tucked into a dish box or some of her toy fruit
packed into a tub of clothing. Or she’ll find an empty box
and begin loading it with several items I’ve already
carefully packed in another box. I know she can sense my anxiety
and is just trying to help, so I can’t be hard on her for
wrecking all my hard work, but it’s not easy.


I keep telling myself that by hook or by crook, it’ll all be
over on Friday. Then we’ll sail off to a blissfully clean,
blissfully empty house. And then start the whole process again in
reverse as we take months to unpack everything we’ve just
crammed into those expensive boxes.


Time to head off- there’s a corner of small appliances
calling my name.