Sunday, April 11, 2010

Moving Day

Everyone always complains that moving is bitch. The packing, the cleaning, the odd-end items that you aren’t sure which categorized box to pack them in, the unpacking, the cleaning the forgetting of which box you put those damn hair-ties into. Yes, it’s all very daunting and justifies those famous eight words: “This is the last time I’m ever moving.” But here’s the thing about moving, which is really pretty simple: If you hate where you’re living, if you dread going “home” at night, if you’ve become nostalgic for a time when you lived with a borderline college roommate, then moving turns from being a trepidation, into a pleasurable anticipation. The cleaning is just an added bonus for this OCD neat-freak. I love that part, it's true. And you’re right, there weren’t boxes and boxes because yes, I’ve only been in France a little over three months, but what used to fit into a suitcase, a 5,100 cubic-inch capacity backpack, and a cheap duffle bag, were now taking up the aforementioned, plus three oversized department store bags. How did this happen?!

Anyway, moving on… (heh)

I was awake by seven a.m., packed by nine (the day before), car loaded and saying my goodbyes sometime around ten. Never mind that there was really only one person I cared to deliver a sincere farewell to and he stands about three feet tall.

“Tu pars?”
he asked.

“Yes, I’m leaving now,” trying to sound regretful.


“Not too far from here," I confessed. "You can come visit when you play with Sage. You can come jump on our trampoline. Okay?”

“Aujourd ‘hui?” he smiled hopefully?

“No, not today but maybe after your spring break.”

“D’accord. Tu me manques, Lolo.”

And as I picked him up to hug him, I told him that I would miss him, too. It was true. I would miss mornings with him trying to sneak into my room to catch the last ten minutes of cartoons then begging to do my makeup. I’d miss our afternoon baking sessions and evenings when he would demand I photograph his bubble bath beard. Reading stories with him, teaching him “Shimmy-shimmy-Coco-Puff” jump rope chants, backyard cartwheel contests, foot races, scooter races, and bicycle races. Trips to the library, trips to the museum during his sister’s cello lessons, and secret ice cream trips to McDonalds. Aside from the times when he would team up with his sister, he was my favorite and the only person I was willing to share my Laffy Taffy with. That’s a big deal.

As for the rest of the family, well, I turn to them and in the most rancorous tone I can muster up, say, “You all are the most miserable family I have ever spent time with. You continuously talked down to me, falsely accused me of more things than I can count, left me with no means of transportation or communication when you were on vacation, forced me to find my way “home” my first week here during snow storms, and have made this the happiest day for me in the last three months. Not to mention, you’re daughter is a real piece of work and I hope for the sake of humanity, she either gets herself a good therapist or a good ass-kicking.”

But because I’m not an assertive bitch, it comes out as, “Thank you for everything. I’ll be sticking around Lyon so if you need someone to take Cecile to her cello lessons on Thursdays, I can help. Oh, and could you email me if you receive my mail? Great, take care!”

I then Cindarella’d my way out of that house without a glance back. It’s as if the Universe knew because it was the first day in a week that the rain was gone, the sun was out and my jacket was off. I even rolled down the windows in the car (Yes, I’m trusted to use the car at my new place). And for the first time in three months, I felt truly relieved, smiling ear to ear to the point of school-girl giddiness. As my dad told me, “Consider it your boot-camp. It was shitty, it was painful, and it’s over.”


  • I spent the day cleaning, unpacking, organizing, and settling in. Then I cleaned the rest of the house. I wasn't lying when I said I enjoy it.

  • A phone that allows me to finally call home!

  • A feeling of being at peace.

  • Barcelona on Tuesday!!


  1. It was SO great to talk to you! I'm so glad you're in a much better place -- literally and mentally :) Have a great time in Spain! Can't wait to talk next weekend. By the way, I tried calling back that number...No luck. Weird. Love you!

  2. ahhhhhhhh you're free!!! yay! congrats girl!
    i love your "speech" to your host family, imagine if you had said that for real! i would be thinking something like that myself too.. ohhhh being a softie/pushover is a terrible thing sometimes!

  3. haha girl i would whoop some cajun style assertiveness into you and then telling the family how you felt about them...end with a "bless your heart"

    haha that pic is soso adorable!!

  4. Yay! You go girl! :P

  5. Yesss! Congrats on getting outta that place. I like what your dad said about considering it your boot camp. Now onto bigger and better things!