Thursday, August 25 (day before closing; anxiety level:6):
Noontime: Text Beloved to see if he wants me to work a half-day tomorrow in order to help him with our move.
Noon-oh-two: He replies I should stay at work and make money. Believe this is a polite way of telling me to stay the hell away while he moves all my stuff into our new home. We both know I'm more useful at work, anyhow.
My plot to escape work early has failed. Sorry, boss.
Friday, August 26th (day of closing; anxiety level: 29):
7am: Beloved meets mom and I at her house for our ritualistic Friday Bagel Central breakfast. Commence meltdown in the driveway, uttering things such as "I don't want people touching my stuff."
7:15am: Am mildly sedated by jalapeno cream cheese. Judging people who walk in looking like Lady Gaga also helps to take my mind off of today's event.
8:00am-3:00pm: Work. Boss lovingly tells me no one will unpack my stuff. They're just gonna dump my shit and ditch. Feel better. Wish I was there supervising my loving people who helped to move my many years' worth of accumulation and Beloved's one suitcase.
3:00pm: Beloved whisks me away to the Farmhouse for dual housewarming presents.
3:15pm-3:45pm: Wander up and down Main St. on foot, feeling odd to be out during the day.
3:50pm: Figure we can be early, we go in to the attorney's office. We're nearly the last ones there, so we get this show on the road.
4:36pm: We own a house.
4:37pm: Stooled at Paddy's for one congratulatory beverage.
5:00pm: Each to his own parent's house to gather belongings not scooped and dropped in this morning's move.
5:10pm: Pizza and such with our people who helped moved us. They were good people. One even ran after a squirrel attempting to enter the mudroom. But I'll have no squatters in my new home. My nephew is running round, having "adventures" and doing somersaults in the yard.
8:36pm: Bed. Only to be followed by...
Saturday, August 27th (first day owning a home; anxiety level: 2):
2:30am: Up and at 'em. Beloved sleeps and I'm upstairs unpacking the kitchen like Martha Stewart on crystal meth.
6:00am: I lay down on the couch in the upstairs living room, and hear padded steps and a tired-looking Beloved approach. "You've been up this whole time?" A girl has priorities. And her cookie sheets are one of them.
6:36am: Breakfast, half of which was on the house. Thanks, one-arm-in-a-sling lady at the golden arches.
7:00am: Lowe's. Sellers took their mailbox so we're on the hunt. We pick up a rake, new lighting for the upstairs bathroom, work gloves for me (I still laugh at that whole collection of words together), garage door rollers (I got the ricketier door of the two), and was doing my best to seem interested in the difference between 2-stroke and 4-stroke weed wackers, when I blurted out: "Crap! We need a mailbox!" Bubble bursted, we make a mad dash to the postal aisle like a couple from Supermarket Sweep (I would give my mailbox to be able to bring that show back and be on it!)
8:00am: Walmart. No one should have to go into a Walmart on a weekend past 9:00am. You're just asking for your day to be ruined. We got in and out of there pretty quick. Beloved has never spent more than $14 for groceries in one trip. I had to defibrilate him at one point. I also pointed out that toilet plungers and clothes hampers don't count as food and we weren't throwing down too much. Be a good boy. Wheel my groceries to the car.
11:00am: Converge on new house with more and more stuff taken from parent's homes. Introductions of opposite sides of family that haven't yet met (oh, Nana! My mom just loved you!) Lunch and unpacking.
4:00pm: More unpacking? It's all sort of a blur. We did hit the pool, and it was cold. We mostly just stood in it and drank champagne.
7:30pm: Out in these parts, we don't get "the cable" or have "the internets" so we popped in a movie. Just as it should be.
Sunday, August 28th (second day owning a home and day of hurricane; anxiety level: -12):
4:45am: No rest for the weary. Beloved returns to Work-work and I am left to tackle Remaining Unpacking Projects.
7:00am: Steal away to Hannaford and Walmart (remember my 9:00am Walmart rule!) to buy staple groceries before Irene swept Eastern Maine off the map.
9:00am: One more haul of stuff at my parent's house (I think my stuff mated while it was in storage and produced more and more stuffs.)
10:00am: Mom arrives and holds it DOWN in the handwashing of large items too big to be chucked in the dishwasher department.
Noontime: Last of the Friday pizza is eaten! House is 98% settled. Mom departs, between sheets of rain, and I guiltily rest.
3:15pm: No power. Means no hot meal for the Beloved who worked very hard in the nasty storm. My suggestion of PB&J via text message is not warmly met. After many calls back and forth, it is decided he will bring home to-go dinner from his parent's house (yes, I hadn't showered all weekend, and there was just no need for his parents to know me like that.)
6:44pm: Power restored. I text Beloved.
6:45pm: He rolls into the driveway.
And that is how you buy a house, avoid moving all the really heavy stuff, come to terms with people touching your stuff, and eat your first meal at home together, prepared by someone else.