Schedule conflicts and a missing tooth…

We are finally feeling a bit more settled in our new home (being able to walk around without tripping over boxes works wonders). So, in an attempt to refocus my posts on what’s happening now, I am going to try to condense these last few moving stories as much as possible.

First off, my preggo brain struck again. I have tried to document my numerous mishaps on Facebook in order to explain why I have come off more like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, than my normal self as of late. So you may have read this story briefly there. But here is what happened.

I thought I did such a good job preparing for our move. Jake was busy studying for the Bar Exam and then doing all of the heavy lifting for our move (not to mention cooking, cleaning and 99% of the rest of our household tasks). So I figured the least I could do was handle the moving logistics.

My plan was brilliant. Or so I thought. All of the packing and loading would take place on August 29th. On August 30th, the house cleaners were scheduled for 9amĀ  and that afternoon the carpet cleaners would come, along with the auto relocation company to ship one of our cars. On Saturday the 31st, our property manager would do an inspection first thing in the morning and pass the keys along to the new tenants by lunchtime.

We spent days (and by “we” I mean Jake, while I cheered him on of course) organizing and preparing for the movers. But when Thursday arrived, they never showed. An hour passed, and then another… the company is based out of Oregon so I couldn’t call their office yet to verify things so instead I went through all of my old emails and realized I got my dates mixed up. They were not scheduled to arrive until the next day.

This was a problem. Everything would have to be pushed.

We had to be in DC by Saturday because – and this was a whole other ordeal – the property managers for our condo had agreed to come in that day to give us our keys and orient us to our new place. Despite what we were originally told, they apparently only do this on weekdays. Getting them to agree to the Saturday move date was not an easy task so we didn’t feel like we had any wiggle room to reschedule.

So, I started making phone calls. First the house cleaner. I more or less begged for her to come first thing Saturday morning and she agreed to come at 8am. The carpet cleaners were unable to reschedule. So we kept them on the books and just hoped the movers would be finished by the time they got there.

On Friday, the movers showed up and took their sweet time packing and loading everything. (They actually told us they spent about two hours longer moving our stuff than they normally do – although we have no idea why they took that liberty). The carpet cleaner showed up an hour ahead of schedule and the house was a mess still with not a single room completely cleared out. The auto relocation guy showed up at the same time. All in all, it was chaos. We sent the carpet guy away and asked if he could come back in a few hours but as the hours passed and we did not hear from him, it was safe to say the answer was no.

After the movers left we called our property manager who was able to pull some strings and get his carpet guy to come the following morning after the house cleaner. The tenants did not experience much of a delay moving in and it all worked out in the end. But the road we took to get there was a bumpy one – all of which could have been avoided had my brain been working at full capacity. Oh well.

Friday night around 7:30pm all of the details were finally settled and Jake and I decided to venture out into downtown Durham for our final dinner in North Carolina. We went to Satisfaction, a sports bar/pizza place we ate at our very first week in town three years earlier. This is where fiasco number two began.

As I was taking a bite of my salad, I felt something “off” on one of my back teeth. I am pretty sure Jake thought I was being melodramatic but if there is anything I know, no matter how much brain capacity I am working with, it’s teeth. And something was not right. But since I couldn’t figure it out yet we went on with our night.

A few hours later we showed up at our friends’ house and were brushing our teeth, getting ready for bed. Mid-brush, the crown on my top left tooth, literally fell out of my mouth and into my hand. What are the chances? It was about 10:30pm at this point, we were getting ready to move the very next day and I am holding my tooth in my hand. Unbelievable.

So we spend the next half hour looking up dentists in DC, who happen to work on the weekends that we could call first thing in the morning. We made a list, put my tooth in my purse (who says that?) and went to bed.

Thankfully, like the rest of our crazy moving drama, it all worked out. We were able to find a dentist who was available after our appointment with the property manager and they successfully re-cemented the crown back on. Mind you, the office smelled like a nail salon and the hygienist was not shy to offer her two cents about how we should raise our baby. But again, as long as I have all of my teeth, we’re good.

The long and short of it is, the move started out rocky but we are here now. Every day we try to do something – anything – to make this place feel more like home. And slowly but surely it is.

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