Getting a Move On …

Yikes — Lifelongnewyorker and Mr. NYer are moving this week!

We’ve been trying to nail down a closing date all week and late yesterday–a Friday–we got the word that it’s either this Thursday or in three weeks.  For various reasons we decided that sooner is better than later.

But.  Lifelongnewyorker is in Atlanta on business.  Mr. NYer just had his last day at work on Friday, and still has to get the Guy With Truck to clean out the basement.  The Abandoned One has moved into his digs in Brooklyn, but has yet to clear out his childhood stuff.  Oh, and how about getting long distance movers lined up on a Friday afternoon when you need them to show up to pack on Tuesday?

Over the phone last night we went into rapid decision mode.  Rather than return to Montgomery, Lifelongnewyorker would book a flight directly out of Atlanta.  Did she have enough clothes?  Yes.  Were appropriate shoes waiting for her in Staten Island?  Check.   Booked the flight for immediately after the final conference session she has to attend today.  This morning realized she only has enough of a prescription to last until tomorrow and will either be without for a week or will need to get a temporary supply.  Called doctor’s office and left incoherent message.

Calls back and forth between Lifelongnewyorker and the relocation folks at work; between them and mover; and between mover and Mr. NYer.  Resolution: mover will be there to pack on Tuesday, load on Wednesday.

Question: What about change of address?  New house doesn’t have a C of O yet, let alone a mailbox.  Call to realtor in Montgomery who advises calling Post Office.  Lifelongnewyorker considers leaving set of prepaid priority mailers with new owners.

Mr. NYer and cats will be returning with her to apartment in Montgomery next week.  Management will need to be advised of pets.

Also, Lifelongnewyorker is remembering that there’s a chicken carcass wrapped up in foil in the trash back at the apartment and really wishes she had brought said trash to the compactor before she left.  Big difference between three-day old chicken carcass and 10-day old chicken carcass.

Then there’s work.  Lifelongnewyorker has phone meetings and projects to work on next week.  Luckily, she has not one but two laptops with her and a blackberry to which either can be tethered.  She also has an air card, but that needs to get back to her office on Monday.  Must remember to send with colleague.

Two laptops?  That should be fun at airport security.

Oh, no — those blackberries?  (Two of them as well).  They were fully charged on Thursday, so Lifelongnewyorker didn’t take the chargers.  Looks like there will be a trip to both AT&T and Verizon on the to-do lists.  Put post-it note on drivers’ license to be reminded at security and look for these at airport.

Set to arrive at LGA about 9:40 tonight.  That gives us two days, one of which is a Sunday, to eliminate everything from the house that isn’t coming with us, pick up all the dry cleaning, prescriptions and whatnot, start at least making lists for change of address, go to the post office, turn off utilities, return cable boxes, clean out the refrigerator, decide what to do with the gas grill (anyone need one?), and finish off any wine or liquor in the house.

Friends may be needed to help with the last item.  Consider Sunday and Monday open house days and stop by!

(Am I) The Worst Mother in the World?

The summer before my only child, Soon-to-be-Abandoned, went to college, I went into mourning.  Stunned by its depth, I struggled to find ways to hold on to my son.  Mr. NYer and I cagily planned the perfect summer vacation that year, a five-day rafting trip down the Colorado River in Cataract Canyon, guaranteed to provide us with a whole heap of quality time with our son.  

The trip was wonderful, and we enjoyed the time together immensely, but that dollop of quality time did nothing to diminish the huge sense of loss I experienced every day as I contemplated the end of his childhood and the end of my role as mother-of-a-child.   Maybe it even made it worse. 

So, how am I dealing with this latest anticipated separation?  It’s different this time, of course.  Soon-to-be-Abandoned moved out out to live in hip and young Williamsburg last year.  He’s 24-years old, an age when, if I remember correctly, one didn’t really feel the need to have Mom & Dad close by.  Grandchildren are, I believe, more than a few years off.  If they appear, we will pack up and follow him where ever he has wound up.    

Mr. NYer worried, too.  “I feel the need to be his safety-net,” he explained, adding that it was a terrible thing to sell Soon-to-be-Abandoned’s childhood home, the only home he had ever known.  More troubling, most of his earthly goods, the personal artifacts of his childhood, student days — everything — were in our house and he would have to figure out what do with them.  I dreaded seeing the store of “friends” — the two score stuffed animals that he managed every night to pile atop his body before he went to sleep — pulled out of the closet and consigned to the trash heap.

Soon-to-be-Abandoned took the news of a possible move in stride, with a sweet generosity of spirit.  “Well, of course I will miss you, and feel sad about the house being sold,” he explained, “but the fact that the job sounds really interesting and something you would enjoy helps.”  Great, I thought:  He has no idea what this is going to feel like, and it will hit him like a ton of bricks.  

Rational thought could be deployed to stave off emotion: Soon-to-be Abandoned is resourceful and independent; Montgomery is not on the other side of the world; our wallet was the most important safety net he would need. 

The rational mind dominated until The Crisis. 

When we finally made the decision, it turned out that something else was preying on Soon-to-be-Abandoned’s mind.  He had moved into a new place, with four strangers, in August.  This was an arrangement made possible by Craigslist.  By October, however, a crisis had arisen in the apartment, and his hearty independence and self-sufficiency seemed more an illusion than reality.  Two of the roommates were moving out; he was faced with an ethical and practical dilemma that was resolved only when all of the roommates decided to move out, even if it meant losing their security deposits.  He reported that he was having headaches and that his neck and back were sore. Obviously he had meningitis, and how could I rush in to help him if I were a thousand miles away?

The solution to the Crisis (not the meningitis — that was simple tension) is that Soon-to-be-Abandoned is moving back home for a few months.  This is a good thing:  he gets to save some money, can help out with the house-clearing and packing, and we get to spend some quality time with him before he leaves.

I just hope it doesn’t make it all harder.