I didn’t just fall down the steps of my new home, I started falling, and seemed to continue falling for about 35 minutes. I was trying to grab the handrails, catch my foot on some wood, anything to make this big body stop surfing down the hardwoods at an impressive speed.
When my limp body finally came to a stop at the landing, I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. I was just imagining what my husband must have thought as he watched his wife wobble about down the steps until she finally hit the last one.
Being the good husband that he is, he was sober and serious, telling me to check for broken bones and scratches. Being the basket case that I am, I just kept saying (through my laughter), “I looked so stupid while falling, and I’m pretty sure my arm will never be the same.” You see, as if the fall wasn’t bad enough, we had a long metal rod sticking through the rails to take back to Lowe’s. And yes, of course, I caught my arm on the sharp metal edge while riding the wave of embarrassment down the steps.
That fall wasn’t the worst part of my week, but it was a highlight that broke up the monotony of the move. I’ve never moved a whole house before this week, and I don’t care to ever do it again. When I was 21 years old, I moved out of my parents house into my own house. That move was fairly simple since I only had the basic essentials from staying at my parents’ crib.
But moving is not a job for the faint of heart. We moved our whole house in one week, which involved a lot of late nights and early mornings. We would move stuff until about 1 a.m. and then the alarm would go off at 5:30 a.m. to start the work day. After work, we would head to the house for the moving process again.