Moving On...Moving At All

I have moved a couple of times in my life.  Actually, I have moved a total of 11 times.  This move back to my hometown will be the sixth move for my husband and I.  But, the second official large move wherein a moving company was involved.

Sure, I moved from my parents' house to go to school.  Moved back to KC, in with a roommate, then to the town where my first big-girl job was, then to Columbia, Missouri where I lived in a crack-apartment where people just decided to pass out on my doorstep.  Once shotguns were fired in my parking lot, my then-kind-of-boyfriend, Rick asked me (really told me) to move in with him.  So, I moved all of my stuff to the storage bin of his apartment complex.

Fast forward six months and we find out that all of my stuff had been stolen from the storage bin.  We tried to get compensated, but we failed.  Then we moved to a townhouse.  There were plush trees and wildlife in the back until six months later the city decided to plow it all down to build a bank - a much needed bank.

After we were married, we wanted a house.  Not the white picket fence, but definitely a house with a backyard.  My agenda was always to get a dog.  Rick had never had a dog (except for his childhood dog Rascal).  But, I grew up around dogs and had one that I had to give to my brother when I went back to college.  I missed having a dog.  Plus, being the 'cat couple' wore on me...and I wanted to be able to go to a dog park and play fetch.

So, we move into that house using friends, not a professional moving company.  We were settled.  We got a dog (Kaeli) and the house felt like home.  Until a little more than two years later we experienced a house fire that sent us to temporary housing.  All of this is documented in my book, "Diary of an Unemployed Workaholic: Lessons Learned from Chaos."  But, for that move, the insurance company took care of the dry-cleaning and storage of anything that survived the fire.

Eight months later - yes, they built two Super WalMarts and then some in the time it took to get us back into our home - we moved back to our refurbished house.  The cat ran away.  The cat came back.  The cat passed away.  We got another dog.  During that time the paradigm shifted at work and we both agreed to move to Michigan.

I moved up for a job.  Rick stayed behind - charged with packing up the house and hiring the moving company.  When we got to Michigan, half of our stuff was broken.  No more end tables.  China hutch cut in half (which actually benefited us because it made a great TV stand)...even the lawnmower was broken.  Not to mention, the drivers, unloaders, whatever they're called, were very rude as they unloaded.

So, this time around, it was my turn.  I stay behind in Michigan.  I finish my job.  Get the house on the market.  Hire the Realtors.  Cancel certain utilities.  Hire the moving company.  And I did.  But, it's a lot easier said than done.  I thought I got a great deal.  I researched companies.  I researched options.  I spoke to representatives on the phone.  I thought I did great.

My Type A personality doesn't like to fail.  Sure, I'll admit it when I'm wrong or when I do fail.  But I absolutely detest choosing the wrong path.  And this time, I definitely chose the wrong path.  Customer service?  The guy who booked us has been great!  Follow through and any other person I have tried to deal with to solidify my move date?  Awful.

I have been told that the company that shall remain nameless until they piss me off even more would be available to pick up my stuff on a Saturday.  That turned to nobody returning my call to get a confirmation.  50 phone calls and irate messages later, a phone call from someone who doesn't speak any English called to say they were coming on Monday between 8 and 5p.m.  Really?  Not only had I approved my house to be shown on Monday...what happened to the 2-day notice they were supposed to give me.

Since then, I have been on the phone trying to call someone to see if they are coming to move my crap.  They keep saying 'we'll call you back'.  The latest is that they need to determine if the contract moving guys can make it on Tuesday morning.  Hmmmm...the contract I signed said they were available Sunday through Tuesday. 

So, I'm currently waiting for them to call me back.  Have been told I need to sign a new contract.  have been asked what is the latest date I can now have them pick stuff up.  Um....TUESDAY?  Like in the original agreement?!?!

It sucks because they hold all the power.  To try to find a new mover on such short notice will cost an arm and a leg.  Not to mention, if I piss off the moving guys before they even get here...I can best be sure that there will be much more than a few broken end tables and china hutch.  I'd really like our HD TV to make the move.

So, my advice to those getting ready to move?  Don't take my advice.  My project plans and anal notes and organizational skills aren't worth a hill of beans.  Just find a friend.  A truck.  Two strong people and move yourself.  It's like the old adage...if you want something done right...just do it your damned self.

When a 'Little' is 'A Lot'

As many of you (all three total readers) know, I am moving.  I am moving back to my hometown of Kansas City to not only be reunited with my husband, child and four-legged children, but to start a new life.  I am leaving my home of four years, my identity of four years and the friends and neighbors I have come to admire over the past four years.

While the move is a good one, one that promises new adventures and more blogs, I am disturbed by how much this move is affecting me.  Not only am I jumping into the abyss of the unknown, but I am leaving behind a precious, precious soul.

I have been a staunch supporter of Big Brothers Big Sisters.  When we moved from Missouri I had to leave my Little behind.  We didn't keep in touch and I think about her often.  I hope and wish my time with her had a positive impact.

Though I moved, I knew the moment I got settled in Michigan I had to become a part of this fantastic organization once again.  The goals and mission of Big Brothers Big Sisters is to match a younger person with someone who can mentor them, teach them and inspire them.  After a few months, I was matched.

I was matched for life.

When I met my Little, I knew we were meant to find each other.  Rightfully so, her mother had reservations.  Her daughter's previous Big had just up and left.  Said she moved, but really didn't.  We had some growing pains, but I fell in love.  I fell in love with a girl who holds all of the promise the world has to offer.

When people tell me that I 'do great work' as a Big, my response is genuine and consistent.  I get so much more out of it than I think my Little ever does.  Sure, I'm supposed to mentor her.  Be there for her.  Listen to her and laugh with her.  We have done all those things.  But, while I have been there for my Little, she has been there for me.

I truly have been paid back tenfold.  Seeing her smile.  Seeing her grow up.  Seeing her confidence grow and her grades improve.  She's a typical teenager.  Defiant.  Scared.  Funny and All-Knowing.  But, she has the most wonderful heart.  The most wonderful demeanor.  The most wonderful soul.

Everyone seems to think the kids that go through the Big Brothers Big Sisters program are lacking.  On the contrary.  These children come from families who love them.  Who want them to thrive.  Who want to expose them to things they otherwise would not see.

I thank my Little's mother everyday for trusting me with her daughter.   I thank Big Brothers Big Sisters for trusting me to be a big, to influence someone who might benefit from my life's experiences.  I thank my Little for giving me unconditional love, a lifetime of laughs and inside secrets that I'll take to my grave.

Yes, it's sad to leave Michigan, but the absolute hardest thing for me is to leave my Little and her family.  They are my family.  They are my friends.  I will be in their lives forever (not in a stalker way) and I hope they want to be in mine as well.

As I hugged my Little goodbye, I had to tell her it would be okay.  I will still be her Big Sister forever.  I had to be strong.  I didn't cry.  But, if she could only know how much I will miss our weekly adventures.  Getting lost on our first outing.  Trying to find our way (on foot) to a movie theatre in snow - when she was wearing dress shoes.  Acting crazy at Bowl for Kids Sake.  Acting crazy...all the time.  Seeing her face light up at the smallest of gifts.  Being scolded by people who didn't speak English while trying to enjoy a relaxing pedicure.

Most of all, I hope she remembers my smile.  When I hear of her making the honor roll.  When I see her play basketball.  When she performs in the school's talent contest.  When she has faced bullies head on by being the bigger person.

I am proud to be a part of Big Brothers Big Sisters.  But, more importantly, I am proud of my Little.  My sister for life who continues to make me proud by being her true self...her amazing self.

I will miss her, but will forever love her.

When 'Me' isn't "ME"

It's no secret that I'm a self-proclaimed work-a-holic.  I even wrote a book about it: Diary of an Unemployed Workaholic.  But, I never thought that I would ever need to write a sequel.

I have spent four years with an amazing organization.  There have been ups.  There have been downs.  But, I think the worst part of my job is where it brought my family so many years ago.  We loved where we lived, in the Heart of America.  I uprooted my family to move North to a state with the worst economy and the most instability when it comes to growth and fortune.


But, I have to say, I have loved my job.  I've even grown to love the state of despair.  The state featured in every Michael Moore, Eminem and Kid Rock video to help boost tourism.  Why?  Because it was the first time I moved away.  I mean, really moved away.


When I went off to college.  I went with big dreams and aspirations and no desire to look back.  I got out, relatively unscathed.  I now had my future ahead of me and nothing could stop me.  I would make a name for myself and be the most successful person I could be - on my own.

And I did.

I met great people.  I met stupid people.  I met best friends and I met enemies.  But, I did it on my own.  With no help.

You can ask any of my college friends (especially the one who became my best man at my wedding) that I took getting ahead and using my brains so seriously, that while they all wanted to go to the bars, I chose to work at a bar to pay my way through school.  And during finals, while they all wanted to play pool and de-stress, I brought my notes and books to the pool hall to study while they had fun.

I'm not a party pooper.  In fact, I like a good happy hour.  However, I stress out more when I know there is work to be done and I'm not doing it, than when I'm in the thick of the chaos navigating my way (and my company's way) to safe shores.

But I got out when I went to college and I made a name for myself and made myself proud.  Today, I know that I got out when I needed to and I have made a name for myself.  A name that embodies loyalty and devotion to an organization that I truly and firmly believe in.

My last official day with the Red Cross in Michigan was this week.  While I'm glad to be finally going home to a great city in the Midwest and I'm FINALLY able to see my husband, child and two doggies, I am sad.  I am nervous and anxious.

Just like an abused child, who balks and screams for the parents who abuse him/her, I am nervous to leave the main identity I have known for four years.  I miss the norm my family and I created on our own.  I am anxious for the new norm that awaits me.

My time at my job was fortuitous.  While I got threats, migraines, stress-induced illnesses, I knew and will always know I did my job.  I did a good job.  That defined me.  I felt my organization needed me.  But as I leave, after vetting out my replacement and agreeing to train him, I feel sad.  Four years - gone. 

What awaits me is a mystery.  Many find that exciting.  I find that unnerving.  It messes with my Type A personality of always wanting and needing a plan.  What is my plan?

I've discovered in my time away from my husband, little boy, and four-legged kiddos that the plan will come.  The unexpected may be welcomed.  A plan needs to be flexible.  I've always firmly believed that in the workplace, now I need to apply it to the home front.

My number one priority is getting back to my norm with my family.  I miss them. I love them.  The job will come, but the family has been there, patiently waiting for me and for that I will always be grateful!