For those of you following along at home, after seven days, seven nights, three planes, five hotels, one stomach bug (or altitude sickness), countless trips to McDonald’s and Cracker Barrel (and one Bob Evans), even MORE countless continental breakfasts, about thirty bruises, and driving 2,018 miles, going no more than 60mph, I’m back home.
My first moment fully alone came on Thursday afternoon, when I drove the big moving truck solo. The parents were in the smaller truck, and I got the chance to listen to Midwestern country radio stations and call my wife and RR without having to talk in a hushed voice. I missed them so much.
On Saturday, we WILLED both trucks up and down the mountains of West Virginia and Virginia. The big truck quit three times, but was revived each time long enough to keep going Eastward. We pulled into their home in Virginia at 7:15pm, and then drove the hour to MY home, where I barged into the front door, past the dogs, and into RR’s room (where my wife was delaying bedtime), when then I scooped her up and she clung to me in a giant monkey hug. I kissed my wife. Home safe.
It was a long trip. 11-12 hours a day, driving. Most of which was spent next to my mother in-law. There are stories of ice and pickaxes, and sharing a hotel room with both of them (awkward), and mostly being exhausted every night, but getting up every morning to two OTHER exhausted (and much older) people, where then I had to crack the whip and move them along.
Seriously. They may have stayed in our house until June. They weren’t kidding.
That said, they’ve been at their house all day today. Potentially actually moving in. Potentially actually staying there tonight. I have no words.