Goodbye, little yellow house

A shot of our old house just before we pull out
its driveway for the last time late Sunday night.

In July 2003, we had a list of eight "must haves" as we searched for a new house. After touring the little 1920s yellow cottage on the corner of Dexter and Glenwood, we checked two of the eight items (price range and location) off that list... and then made an offer.

In the years that've passed, we cursed our decision to buy that house a time or two. And we watched our daughter take her first steps across its creaky kitchen floor. We fed an insatiable money pit. And we curled up in front of its wood fireplace to open Christmas gifts. We worked hard to turn the neglected house with potential we were smitten by into the folksy, unassuming home we knew it could be.

We took possession of that house on Aug. 14, 2003. At 4:15 p.m. on Aug. 15, an estimated 49,999,998 people across North America -- plus the two standing dumbfounded in a torn-apart living room, paint brushes in hand -- lost power for three days.

It also rained on our wedding day, and there was a freakish winter storm when The Noodle was born in late April. So... there should have been no surprise when Mother Nature kicked us in the gut again on move-out weekend.

I think the best way to present the "wildest weekend ever" (as described in the previous post) is to first tell you how each day was supposed to proceed, followed by how it actually played out.

SATURDAY PLAN

Wake up early. Finish packing. Pick up truck at 5 p.m. Load some "light" stuff myself for a few hours. Early to bed in preparation for "move day."

SATURDAY REALITY

Wake up early. Sonja checks Zoe's temperature. It's still high, for the fifth consecutive day. Call Dr. Turke. He suggests a trip to emergency room, "just to rule some things out." Six hours later... everything is fine, we're on our way home.

Pack for an hour. Pick up truck (a 1982 International with 280,000 miles that keeps slipping out of second gear) at 5 p.m. Start packing limited amount of "light" stuff that is actually in boxes. It's starting to snow. We're getting concerned.

SUNDAY PLAN

Friends and family start rolling in about 10 a.m. Get the "big" stuff on the truck. Pack around it with the rest of the "light" stuff. Done by 5 p.m. Zoe goes home with Busia and Dziadzia. We have a nice dinner and take a well-deserved rest in a nearby hotel room.

SUNDAY REALITY

We wake up to this...

Nine inches. Take early-morning ride to Lowe's for more boxes. Cars are stuck in every intersection. Nothing plowed. Still coming down hard. Total chaos.

Friends and family start to (understandably) back out or delay their arrival. Phone keeps ringing. Sonja repeats her daily mantra into the receiver each time: "We're screwed."

I trudge into and out of the house like a metronome -- one beat every box -- for hours. Sonja -- feeling now like she did when she was eight months pregnant with Zoe -- keeps packing. Our friend Allison is the first to brave the elements and plays the key role of keeping Zoe entertained and out from under-foot (above). I keep trudging. Sonja keeps packing.

About 4 p.m., our new hero, Dave, shows up with a cape and a big 'S' on his chest. He races back and forth to the truck -- carrying his own weight in "stuff" -- at a ridiculous pace. It makes us move faster. Then Aunt Tephs shows up after work to flex her muscles. Impressive (and appreciated) lugging, indeed. Phil gets there for the third -- and perhaps most physically demanding -- shift: Clearing out the attic via its tiny staircase. By that time, the truck is full and our realtor has called the buyer to tell him we'd need use of the garage for a day.

Aunt Tephs packs Zoe up for her first-ever sleepover at a non-grandparents' house. The whole trip, Zoe tells Aunt Tephs she's driving too slow through the still-falling snow.

At 11 p.m., Sonja and I mop our way out of the house (that's us above, just before leaving) and pull out of the cute little carriage house-style carport for the last time. We were too tired to be sentimental. Wolfed down a sandwich from Arby's and were sleeping as we opened the hotel room door.

MONDAY PLAN

Breakfast. 10:00 a.m. ultrasound appointment. Drive truck from Ann Arbor to Chelsea. Back to Ann Arbor for 1 p.m. closing of our old house. Quick lunch. Close on our new house at 3 p.m. Move in bed and other necessities for our first night in the new house.

MONDAY REALITY

Wake up too late for decent breakfast... settle for free continental fare. 10:00 a.m. ultrasound (all good news... it deserves its own post later). Race back home and hop in the truck, still parked in front of our house. Drive approximately 50 feet on unplowed roads. Stuck at intersection. Shovel, salt, rev, rock, reverse, drive, reverse, drive, reverse, drive. Really, really stuck now. Call tow truck. It can't get me out. Call second tow truck. Together, they both pull me out in a painfully slow manner.

Truck on dry ground (K-Mart parking lot around the corner) by 1:30 p.m. Show up 45 minutes late for first closing. Everybody is understanding. Shoot over to second closing, which goes without a hitch. Back to K-Mart for the truck. Aunt Tephs -- with more heavy lifting in her immediate future -- and Zoe are waiting for us at our new home in Chelsea.

Part 2 (coming soon): The Honeycutt cavalry shows up, kicks butt and takes names on Tuesday. Still can't find my black dress shoes, but who needs 'em... I'm on holiday! (Holiday stuff will be Part 3, also coming soon.)