So the day was to begin with a late trip to the gym, the last trip to the gym, for a kick ass workout sure to exhaust me beyond concern. The movers were coming at 12ish to load the POD and take my couch to a women’s shelter; the carpet guy was coming a day early; and we were going to relax before leaving early this morning.

Okay, actually the day began with me taking all the crap my kids insist on moving (an empty paper towel roll, a broken Halloween cupcake decoration, a calculator), or everything that could fit into the Mickey Mouse and pink suit cases that I got at Goodwill for 4 bucks total, and moving them into the bedroom upstairs. The bedroom was to become distraction central (DC) while I cleaned, men moved our shit into a POD, and another man cleaned our carpets. To prepare DC, I had to wrestle our memory foam mattress, wrapped in a plastic protective cover, down the stairs. It was like trying to move a slippery whale in an ill-fitting condom…make that a drunk, slippery whale in an ill-fitting condom. Midway, I hear, “Mom! I pooped ‘n the pahE cha!” from China Doll who I knew was hovering over the Bjorn potty chair, trying to keep her oversized, pink satin nightgown from being dipped in shit. Greenpeace be damned, I shoved and kicked drunk whale as hard as I could, then did my best Lucille Ball trip and slide over it (“Mom, are you okay?” from Rafael) to get to China Doll. All to avoid saying, “And over here we have this little poop stain” to the carpet cleaning guy. It was going to be that kind of day.

Door knock at 12:15pm. Opened door to sweaty, pissed off mover. There is nothing more frightening than a pissed off mover; it means they will take it out on your stuff. “Your number is disconnected!” he said. I gave him my number which was about 7 digits different than the one his boss gave him. Anger shifted from me to his boss. “Typical.” I handed him the gate buzzer and a feeling of doom floated through my veins. When they returned, I went over what went, etc. and said, “And this is the couch and TV stand we want to donate to the shelter.” “Ahh, we don’t know anything about that,” he replied, “he just said something about ‘do we know anyone who might want a couch,’ but I can’t take anything in my van.” Now I hated his boss. Because hubby said, “cancel the Goodwill pick up, this is much better”, I canceled the Goodwill pick up. An angry call to the boss ended in him blaming hubby for not "calling back to confirm". An angry call to hubby confirmed that he did confirm. How could I complete this amazing, philanthropic gesture if move boss was a lying jackass? I made a quick call to Goodwill to beg and got, in an Indian accent with a consoling guru-like tone, “Now… these things happen all the time, they are nothing to be upset about. We just have to move on and let it go... I can’t help you until Thursday.” Well, we planned on leaving today (Wednesday). He did give me a much needed moment of Zen, but now I had two surly movers, a couch stuck in my room, a carpet cleaner coming in an hour, the downstairs neighbor (who was also going to generously donate furniture) standing at my door, and two naked girls coming down the stairs. In the whirlwind of activity, I had forgotten to check in at DC. It was that kind of day.

The upside: neighbor agreed to store couch in her apartment until we devised a plan, movers moved as if expecting an alien invasion, carpet guy showed up early.

Slight down turn: As movers gave the “Ma’am, we’re all done here,” China Doll gave the “Mommmmy, I poooohhpd ‘n my underwear!” which she has never done since we began training. Carpet guy asked if anyone told me about the “fight fee” which means spending $40 more than my coupon quote. A quick survey of the rooms lead to an executive decision to blow off the recently cleaned upstairs (ahh, 6 mos ago) and only do downstairs. Back on budget, but he needed it in cash which meant breaking up DC and dressing naked girls to go across the street to the bank. (remember when small tasks like this didn’t take such effort?) A McDonald’s $1 ice cream bribe got them out the door; both barefoot, one wore kitty pj bottoms and a Christmas shirt, the other insisted on dressing like a 101 Dalmation. After an hour of touring neighborhoods looking for Christmas decorations, carpet was complete. I gave the carpet guy the cash and a fist pound and we headed back to DC. I had never been more excited to see Martha Speaks.

I spent the evening making the third Martha White pizza in a row for dinner and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom while they continued to watch PBS and Smile of a Child Network, which is all we can get on the converter box and antenna which hangs out the bedroom window. We had a shitty night’s sleep on our floor nest and I was up at 5am taking loads of trash to the dumpster. Now, after all that, a major storm that is concentrated on our I95 route is preventing us from leaving today. No matter how many times I show Rafael the red and yellow patch on weather.com, she only hears, “you can’t see your dad until tomorrow.” It will be that kind of day.