I have always been inpatient, antsy, unsettled even, anytime the status of major life events are up in the air. So, the idea that a major move is lurking somewhere out there in our immediate, and then not so immediate, future is nearly driving me insane.
It seems that our move status changes by the minute while our time spent waiting in between these changes drags on at a snail's pace. A major contradiction, I know, but so goes it in limbo land.
The draft for a post that I had written yesterday had to be scrapped as we received visa approval this morning--which changes so much while at the same time so very little. Now that we have the visa, our car can be picked up in Los Angeles and shipped. Our stuff, once it reaches Canada, can be claimed and continue it's voyage to our home in London. What it doesn't change is perhaps the most important part--when we can finally head to our new home. While our car will only take six days to ship, despite options of extra fees and 48 hour pick ups, the things that will eventually fill our new home will not ship out of Los Angeles until next week with an estimated arrival date of 14-21 days. This means that our arrival to our home anytime around when we were planning to arrive. . . um . . . this weekend!? . . . would be to a very, very empty house surrounded by plumes of newly fallen snow. Throw into the equation one pregnant Mama, a tireless toddler, two terrified cats, a tired Papa and no pots, toys, towels, beds or blankets, and you have a real d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r.
This time I can't blame Beck for finagling Dean into staying a bit longer to finish projects at work, nope, this is due to circumstances beyond our control--beyond the reach of a balking and cross pregnant wife.
So, what to do? We've mulled around many an idea but for one reason or another have determined that the most feasible of those means we hold out in the City of Angels yet another week. The 12th is our new date of departure. We can only hope that the kindness of the friends we are staying. . . and waiting with . . . doesn't run out.
I just somehow can't help but think that all of this (the expense, the hassle, the mental toll) would be worth it if we were moving to say . . . Spain, France, Tibet, Estonia . . . but, Canada, really? And, two hours or so north of the U.S. border no less. That really stings this mama's gaping international moving wound.
Illustration credit: Phil Wrigglesworth.