It's been a rough week or so (not as rough as it's been for my friend Alison, but still....). Instead of doing what I should and finishing the unpacking/arranging, I'm taking a break, sipping some of Alison Vineyard's sherry, catching up on my unwatched tv and blogging.
First of all, Thing One is The Man. Really. Last weekend we planned a massive painting party. Saturday, Thing One, MG and I came to The New Place and started in. FYI, the living/dining/library room is Raspberry Pudding, the halls and all trim are White Chocolate, my bedroom is Whispering Peach, and the guest bedroom is Winter Lake (Benjamin Moore). We got through about 1/3 of it, then headed home. Sunday, everyone but Thing One cried off (for very good reasons, I might add), so the two of us were under the gun. Except...
Thing One was Under the Weather. By 11, he was stopping every few minutes. By noon, he was under an emergency blanket, lying on the floor of the guest bedroom, shivering. I tried to paint, but after an hour I decided that Thing One needed to get into bed. So we left for The Old Place.
Monday he didn't feel well enough to go to work, but he did pack. Everything. Still feeling sick. I tend to underestimate things, and my plan to pack over two evenings would have been... unrealistic. Thing One got me packed. While sick.
Tuesday, the movers came. Part of me wonders about language differences. I mean, does "70-80 book boxes" mean something different in Spanish than in English? It must, because the guys were all surprised when they realized that there really were that many book boxes. Not to mention china and large and wardrobe boxes. And furniture. And rugs, paintings, etc.. You know: a house.
Still, four hours later I had been packed, moved and unpacked. Thing One was hanging in there, helping with the unpacking and moving boxes from the ground floor to the basement or the attic or the bedroom floor. We went to Friendly's for dinner (not my favorite place to eat, but for Thing One, it means halfway to Home - his family would stop at the First Friendly's, in Springfield).
He returned to NYC and Lulu (who missed Daddy very much) on Wednesday. Since then, he's been trying to keep me calm as I stare at the mess of crap we've accumulated over the years. I say "we" because I have boxes of his LPs, his father's Marine uniform, his old softball uniforms (and, even better, his old jock straps!), etc.. And he's coming back next weekend to help finish painting and organizing.
I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve having him be so wonderful to me, but he is. And I love him for it.
Oh, in case you were wondering, there are 50 book boxes still unopened in the basement.