My husband and I recently made a decision to relocate across the province. One of the many benefits is being closer to our family. Though it was the right thing to do, I do not recommend moving with a pair of 15-month old toddlers. I especially do not recommend doing it on your own. Hire professional movers.
After a month of decluttering in order to list our house for sale, and then two solid weeks of proper packing, we set about a multi-stage move of our stuff. We planned it so that there would be a day to load the truck, a rest, a day to drive, another rest, and a day to unpack the truck. This made the whole thing seem reasonable, at least on paper. We drove as a caravan; one giant rental truck packed full, including the front seats, and one family vehicle also packed to the hilt.
We only had to make one stop during the drive, and we arrived at our new house, relieved to find it clean and move-in ready. Everything had gone so well up until this point, but with only two hours to the twins’ bedtime ahead of us, the true marathon began.
I guess Saturdays are busy in the suburbs, because the street was packed with cars parked along the curb, and the only way to manage backing the giant truck into the driveway involved a helpful neighbour across the street, another resident moving their car, and an approximately 7000-point turn. Don’t worry; my husband and I are still married.
Once parked, we managed to unload the cribs and high chairs, all the while keeping the twins from climbing the new and exciting staircase, eating rocks from the garden, and from getting stuck in our new kitchen cupboards. As the twins ate dinner, my husband and I pushed through our own hunger. Together we built cribs, found the clean sheets, sound machine and plush bunnies, executed bathtime, and sang all of the normal songs.
It was in the midst of the final pre-sleeping step (story time) that I realized the shutters would not be nearly opaque enough to block out the summer sun streaming into their room. So close to the finish line, my husband could sense I was reaching my limit.
“Don’t give up on me now,” he said, desperate to hold it all together. With their blackout curtains still hanging in our old house, I was forced to improvise. Using thumbtacks, a fleece blanket, three garbage bags and a beach towel, I fashioned black-out curtains while my husband read Goodnight Moon three times.
With shaking arms, grumbling tummies and stinging tired eyes, we crawled into our bedroom, laid down on the floor, and started listening to the baby monitor. By some miracle, the twins went right to sleep. It was probably the familiarity of their own cribs, but I like to think they simply observed the level of exhaustion in our eyes, and knew a good night’s sleep was what everyone needed.
