Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Monday, January 17, 2011

Moving Day

Life can be really tiring.  You have so much to get done, so much required of you, so many noses and bottoms to wipe, food to microwave, laundry baskets to hide when company drops by.  It can be exhausting.

All last week had been like that.

But when Saturday came I was honestly jazzed (now, that's a word you don't get to hear too often, isn't it?  I'm trying to bring it back) to be helping my good friends Dave and Stephanie to move into a new place.  The economy has slapped them around for a bit and so they have spent the past many months in a tiny living space with even tiny-er privacy.  But oh, joy of joys, David was recently given a Fab-O job from the job fairy, and that meant that they could now afford a little somp'n-somp'n we like to call elbow room.  Only they got room for, like, a bazillion elbows in there.  Maybe more.

So, we did what Mormons do best (besides making funeral potatoes and strapping gynormous bows to little babies' heads); we had what I like to call a Mormon Barn Raising.  I had been at a rehearsal in the morning, so I was privileged to pull up late that morning to the new house to see a sight that got me all mushy inside.  Five, maybe six families stood in the driveway waiting as the first truck pulled in to be unloaded.  In no time flat, it was empty and boxes were being unpacked, shelves wiped and couches couched.  Laughter echoed through the emptyish rooms, and men hustled through doorways with pianos and dressers while small children collapsed boxes and played in used tape and bubble wrap.  Teenagers worked with smiles on, not needing to be told what to do.  As if by magic, donuts arrived, a gift from a member of the congregation that lived a few houses away.  Rooms were arranged quickly and sooner than could be imagined, folks were saying goodbye with well wishes, off to tackle their own Saturday tasks, not at all bothered, more so blessed, that their mornings were spent helping someone move.

We stayed into the evening, my family and I.  Ethan worked to help his friend Tyler set up his room, but also stuck with tasks he'd been assigned as well as, or even better, than most grownups.  Adam plugged away at shelving DVDs, and Guy and I exchanged the occasional kiss (or smack on the tush) as we passed in hallways, making full boxes into empty ones.  Working alongside our friends, we made an impressive dent in the unpacking, and were plenty tired, but still cheerful as the sun set on our day.

Somewhere in the middle of that day, Steph thanked me for staying to help.  I just smiled.

"It's what we do, isn't it?" I said.

In my mind I was swept to the many days Steph had been there for me as I unpacked my crowded brain, layed out my fears, and opened the doors to the dark corners of my aching heart.  I remember her looking into my eyes and saying, "We'll get through this" and believing her. 

Its nice to see someone you love reach the end of a long trial.  Its good to hear their excitement and hopes for the future.  It gladdens the heart to celebrate with them, to breathe that last, oh-so-welcomed sigh of relief, and to slump into a chair and smiling, say, "it's all done."

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, if you ask me.

Home Sweet Home!!!


Jen said...

Sounds like a really productive and fulfilling day!!

Stephanie said...

Oh, I love this post! Such sweet memories! Everything seemed to go right that day. :o) Thanks again for all your help!