The trickiest part of the move was that I needed to convince my teenage daughter to leave her room. I’m not quite sure what the fascination is that she spends about 99% of her life in there, but I can hear her giggling a lot when I pass her door. So something must be amusing … I venture to guess it has to do with Tik Tok, Instagram, YouTube, or one of the various new social media platforms that I haven’t got a clue about.
I did manage to have a teenage sighting on the day of our move, although that might have been a legend like a Big Foot sighting or UFO sightings.** After that initial rush of movement, the real issue began. That’s the “tidying up” part, as I like to call it. For those of you who have moved, you may know what I am talking about. This is the part of the move where you are about 90% done, but a few straggler boxes and objects still remain to (a) either pack up and load into the Mom-Station Wagon, or (b) unpack from said Station Wagon.
The day of our move:
Me: Honey, make sure to take out your laundry baskets out of my car.
*Honey rolls her eyes at me, because, like, she has foreeeever to get that stuff out of my car.*
The next day:
Me: Honey, you need to get the stuff out of my car. I need to pack some more stuff up.
*Honey is using the teenage-girl-tone of voice, which is to say, Mom, you are as dumb as an amoeba.*
The day after:
Me: Honey, get your stuff out of my car.
Honey: Sheesh, I told you I would.
*I’m not quite sure Honey is listening to me because she is also giggling at a Tik Tok video and just briefly paused to give me a look that I’m less intelligent than the day before.*
The day after that, I drive to work.
Honey: Uhhhh, where are my CLOTHES I NEED MY CLOTHES I HAVE TO GO TO MY JOB, AND YOU DROVE AWAY WITH MY CLOTHES IN YOUR CAR.
My daughter’s prioritizing skills in motion, folks.
** I texted her that date and time.