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If moving doesn’t kill you, your husband will


We’re moving next week. Hence, my bloggy absence. It’s been a little crazy around here. Never mind that one of us has been/will be out of town for every single weekend in April.

I’m not too stressed, actually. We’ve been packing for the last couple of weeks, and we had already cleaned out and packed up a ton before we put our house on the market, and we have ten more days before our happy house’s new owners move in. Utilities are scheduled, movers are scheduled, closing documents are on-schedule. It’s all good.

My house looks like a tornado came through it, but it is organized chaos. I know exactly where everything is and where it is going.Michael went to Orlando last week for a meeting, and I am going to Austin this weekend for my annual girls’ getaway with my college roomie and partner-in-crime, Holly. Both of these trips were planned months before we even put our house up for sale – and while the timing may seem insane (really, who takes a trip the week before they move?), it’s actually working out quite well. Michael and I have both been crazy-busy-teetering-on-a-cliff since February, so what better time for a vacation? He got to lie on the beach and play golf, and I get to shop and eat and spend some much-needed girl time with one of my dearest friends. It’s the carrot at the end of this nerve-racking journey.

If everything goes according to plan, we will have plenty of time to move out, move in, and clean up.

You know how those plans go.

But it’s all good.

Oh, and I almost died last week. My husband almost killed us.

No, I’m serious. Literally almost killed us. Not the figurative kind of murder like when I do something that annoys him. He really, truly almost killed us.

We were driving to the airport so he could play golf increase his knowledge of pediatric ophthalmology in Orlando, and we were driving through a construction zone when he missed the exit for the airport.

Or he should have missed it. He decided to take it anyway. In construction.

He totally lost control of the car. OK, not totally. But almost totally. We were swerving from one shoulder to the other going about 60 mph on two wheels. The whole thing lasted about ten seconds before the car finally came to a stop.

Here’s what we learned in ten seconds:

I learned that when I brush the door of death, I yell. Very loudly. My last words very well could have been, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?” (Thankfully I have many, many more words to say.) My thoughts during those ten seconds: We are about to roll over. Huh. I wonder what that will be like.

Michael learned that when he is driving a car that is swerving out of control, he gets very quiet. His thoughts: We are about to drive into the grass. Now we’re about to drive into a concrete barrier. Oops – there’s the grass again. I wonder if I’ll still be able to make my flight?

When the car finally came to a stop, I kept yelling. He was still quiet. Nathan was whimpering. Michael tried to apologize and assure me that he would never, ever do that again. I suggested he stop talking.

It was probably a good thing that he was leaving town.

By the time he landed in Orlando, my heart rate had slowed down and we could (almost) laugh about it. We were laughing by the next day. About the fact that he almost killed us. About how each of us thinks the other one must had the more scary seat in that car.

(Would you rather be trying to gain control of an out-of-control car, or be in the passenger seat with no control? Discuss.)

But we’re still alive, and we’re moving next week.


4 thoughts on “If moving doesn’t kill you, your husband will

  1. Please excuse the tacky comment from my husband. He is jealous that he's not able to shop, eat and generally have an awesome time this weekend…Oh, and that he didn't get to go to Disneyworld! Only 4 more days!! 🙂

  2. That made me laugh … maybe it was nervous laughter over your near death.Glad you're alive and that things are going well with the move. Sounds like you've got it all under control.

  3. You know, shamefully enough, I think my last words would have have a little more "color" to them than yours did. You should be proud.And, as a mom, and a passenger, you have every right to yell AND freak out! It's in the fine print of any marriage certificate. :)Congrats again on the move, sister!

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