It caught me by surprise a couple years ago when my son Nate turned to his 12 year-old daughter and said, “Sophie grab the other end of this chest and help me move it.”
Say what?! This kid who still needs daily parental guidance can help her parents move heavy furniture?
The same day whenever my 80 year-old husband said, “I can help you move that.” Nate refused his offer.
“They won’t let me do anything,” my husband sulked.
After decades of helping with everything, his time had come to see that our role on moving days had changed. Our current status reflects our progression through the various phases of life.
First was the era of being too young. My parents often moved their family of five children born in six years.The first few moves my siblings and I woke up in house A, spent the day with our 60 plus year old grandparents and were surprised to be tucked into bed in house B.
The year that Nate and Joy moved with Sophie’s help, her two younger brothers spent time with us. Their parents needed the little boys out of the way. So the boys went away and played at our house. Sister Sophie stayed and worked with her mom and dad.
One time my parents stayed in one place for five years. The next move found us old enough to be included in the decisions and packing.
“Go sort out your toys. Get rid of ones you no longer want. Pack the rest and your clothes.”
The discards included the big Teddy Bears Mom had delighted to give us years before. She sadly agreed to let them go. That one decision underscored how we had grown and changed through the years.
With several more sessions of packing up through the next five years, I learned many practical techniques and tricks. So many tips that at 52, even though I had not moved in 35 years, I startled my daughter before her first big move when I said. “I can get you rolls of paper to pack the breakables.”
She had not considered that. Her young husband Jacob and friends also obviously needed our advice about securing loose boxes in the U-Haul.
Their looks said, “oh, I had not thought about that.”
A few years later, with preschoolers of their own, Jacob urged Sharon to leave town while he and friends packed, lifted and shifted everything to the next house.
This year, while he worked, my daughter directed her three eldest to help pack and clean the old house. Adult family friends moved the heavy stuff. The kids’ friends then eagerly volunteered to come to a moving party at the new house. One by one the teens emptied the new garage of all those boxes and larger pieces of furniture. With teen power, each box went to its assigned room in one day.
Meanwhile my husband and I sat at home, took phone calls and listened to the saga of their moving day.
“At our new house, the previous owners and others were still there this morning. They are all in their 60s and 70s working on moving. It’s Moving Day and they are not moving! They are sitting down and resting! It takes longer if you sit down,” she exclaimed.
For weeks beforehand she repeatedly said, “I am not asking you and dad to help us move.”
That’s when I began realizing, grandparents watch grandkids during a move. They don’t carry heavy furniture and boxes.
So I have come full circle. It’s moving time again, and I have been relegated to the grandparent house once again.
Believe me, I am not complaining one bit about that, not one word.