I am done. I have moved my last. Next time they want to move, they can call Acme or Atlas or Hertz or Two Guys and a Truck. But please don’t call mom and dad–our strength is waning, our arthritis is aching, and our days are numbered. Enough, please!
Yep, that’s what I thought I told my son over ten or twelve years ago when he left for college. And that’s what I thought I told him four or five years later when we helped him settle into his first house. And my daughter 5 years ago when she left for college. And I thought I told her that again a few years later when she changed apartments. And I thought I told her and her new husband that a few weeks ago when we helped them consolidate their ménage. And I think I told my son that a few days ago when we helped him and his fiancée relocate in Texas.
I have made a liar out of myself so many times over this business of moving grown kids. I really should stop: but not stop helping the kids move, but stop telling them that “this is the last time” lie. I think they have our number on that one.
Anyway, our moms and dads did the same for us. These are the moving tales (and joys) of parenting, arthritis and strained muscles notwithstanding.