Day 8: If I wasn’t sick before…

…I’m sure I will be now. I went to urgent care this morning b/c Ed, my mom, and my dad were sick of listening to me hack up my lungs were concerned about me.  I sat in a room full of people with swine flu and other wonderful illnesses.  If I catch something else, I’m going to lose. my. $hit. It took almost three hours. The good news is that I’m not as sick as some of the other people were. The bad news is that I have a sinus infection, bronchitis, and pneumonia. I feel like a lot of you want to come over to my house for dinner or just to hang out in an enclosed space with me. As if the voice isn’t sexy enough (it’s 99% gone) and the hacking super nauseating to hear, I’m coughing out all sorts of good germs.

We abandoned our original plan to drive both cars over here b/c although I could have done it, I really didn’t want to do it. Lazy, right? I’m just pretty beat up and I’ve gone non-stop for three weeks. We unloaded Ed’s car and he managed to get 75% of the stuff we wanted to bring (things we didn’t want the movers handling) into one vehicle. Ed is a MASTER packer. He puts everything all over the ground, spends fifteen minutes planning it out, and then fits an INSANE amount of stuff into one space. You should see him in action. If you had seen everything he planned to put in the Tahoe, you would have laughed at him. Except that he did it. It’s like those clown cars at the circus; it just doesn’t make sense. We only had to leave a few things behind that we’ll get when we’re back for Thanksgiving, but those were things he initially said were staying behind and they’re into pressing, anyway. Although I supposed the Floor Mate might come in handy. Thanks to the movers for leaving that one behind in the middle of the room. ‘Cause it’s easy to miss and all.

I think this was the first time I actually enjoyed the drive, only because I got to sit on my a$$ and do nothing for six hours, the first six hour stretch of time during which I’ve done nothing since I got sick.  I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop coughing, but I got to sit.  Although I almost beat the hell out of a bor*der patrol agent who made us dig each and every base of bamboo out of a box I had in the back so as to “inspect” them and view the “growing agent.”  WHAT THE FU*# IS A GROWING AGENT? ‘Cause I call it a fuc#Ing vase of rocks. Six of them. Each with a single stalk of of bamboo. Let me recount for you:

DBag: Hmmm. Looks like this is going to be an agricultural stop. What’s that back there.

Me: Hack, hack, hack. Bamboo.

DBag.: Hmmmm, I’m going to need to see those plants.

Me: Okay. Hack, hack. hack.

Dbag: What’s the best way to get to them?

Me: Not really sure. We’re obviously packed here. I can open the back door (they were sort of wedged between the captains seats between the kids.)

Dbag: Hmmm. Why don’t you hand them to me.

Me, under my breath: Why the hell did you ask  me what the best way to see them is if you’re going to tell me how to do it?

Ed: Fine. Hold on. (Takes off his seat belt, climbs over the seat, pulls out one vase of bamboo. Hands it to him.)

Dbag: Oh! It’s just a bamboo.

Me, under my breath: Oh f$*k me. Kill me now.

Ed: Okay?

DBag: I’m going to need to see that big plant there. I need to see the growing medium.

Ed: They’re all bamboo in vases, just like that one.

Dbag: Okay, please hand me that big plant.

Me: HOLY SHIT! I’M GOING TO THROW MYSELF ONTO THE HIGHWAY.

(Ed hands him yet another bamboo in a vase.)

Dbag: Hmmm. It’s another bamboo in a vase.

Me: Yeah, they’re all single stalks of bamboo in vases. They’re all the same.

DBag: Hmmm. I’m going to need to see the growing agent of that one there.

Me: Seriously?

Dbag: You know, bamboo are supposed to be placed in threes otherwise it’s bad luck.

Me: Yeah, I can see how that plays out. I’m feeling very unlucky right now.

Dbag: Hmmm. Do you have any fresh produce or vegetables in the vehicle.

Me: No. We have a bag of trash.

Ed: Seriously, Laura, I want to go now. Shut it.

Me: No, nothing at all. Our kids have been living off of takeout for two weeks. I don’t remember what fresh produce looks like. I’m tired.

Dbag: Okay, have a safe trip.

Me, under my breath. Yeah, pretty much. Suck my a$$

NOW,  in my defense, I’m pretty much dying here. I go through these stops ALL THE TIME. I’ve done this drive more times than I can count over the past six months. Over and over and over, I sit in line, wait my turn, tell them we’re all U.S. citizens (although it just occurred to me that Molley technically isn’t a U.S. citizen), and then move on. But this? For real? I get needing to take a quick look and asking a question, but really? I have to pull out every last bamboo and vase b/c some border patrol agent is on a power trip?

Well, it WAS under my breath and he didn’t hear it, but apparently Matty did, because the next thing I hear from the back seat is, “Suck my app!”

Nice. I’m always striving to outdo myself in the parenting skillz department.

We got here sort of late, so Ed dropped the kids and I off at our rental apartment and took the things in the car to the new place and unloaded them. I had those little people bathed and ready for bed in NO time! I was a woman on a mission.

That’s all for tonight! The movers arrive at the new place in the morning with all of our things so it’s going to be a looonnnggg day. For now, I have a date with Desperate Housewives and my handy new bottle of cough syrup with codeine!

Good night!