Okay. So, moving overseas is hard. On top of all the paperwork, appointments and logistics there is the actual packing and loading of everything you own. It's daunting. It makes me want to petition the Olympic Committee and ask for consideration to make it an actual sport. I think I have a pretty good case after this move. The first key to a successful overseas move is organization. The second is communication. I was very good at the first... the second is a "what had happened was" kind of story.
So, being organized.... is kind of in my DNA. If you were a fly on my wall you would find that my role is to keep everyone in my household organized and on schedule. I maintain a constant to-do list, family calendar, grocery list and filing system. I scan EVERYTHING. Like clockwork, paperwork comes in, it's dealt with or thrown out. I hate piles and clutter and so I really make an effort to try to eliminate things we don't need.
During this move, my organization was tested. I had to stay on top of things with a separate calendar and to-do list of just move items we needed to complete within our timeline Zac and I would sit down every few days or so and reassess our efforts. One of our bigger tasks was to sell our motorcycle, my car and Zac's beloved truck. My car and motorcycle sold so quickly it made our heads spin. We weren't just yet ready to pair down to one vehicle but we were making due with the help of good friends. Zac's truck was taking a bit longer, in large part because it is not very old and in excellent condition. (Also because Zac really doesn't want to sell it and reluctantly posted it) So as we continued to try to hunt for the right buyer, we were in the process of a triple threat pack out: express shipment, household goods and storage. While I had pulled all of our most important paperwork to take with me, some things remained locked in our fire safe box.
We cleaned, worked, purged until our house was ready for movers. Movers came, Movers went.
Then suddenly, a buyer! Yay! As I begin to prepare to process the sell of our truck I have one of those gut wrenching, sinking, pit of your stomach moments. Holy beep beep beep. I did not pull the title out of the fire safe box. When I realize this, I am walking down the street as my husband is washing said truck. (I am so shocked this truck still has paint on it as much as he washes and waxes it.) I think for a moment. If I just ran full speed to the ocean would I have to tell him? Or, could I just drop to the ground and play dead long enough for him to worry, then I could spring back to life and just say, "good news! I'm not really dead but I did send your truck title to Europe." I weighed my options for longer than one would think. Then I did the unthinkable. I walk over, and ask him if he happened to pull the title out of the fire box. I already know the answer, but I think this may go over better. He stares back at me as if I just hit him like a wack-a-mole. He says, "What. Are you serious." I think about running to the ocean again, I also think about a diversion, possibly flashing him a boob. I feel like neither will work this time. (The boob things usually works for most screw ups.)
He says he needs a moment, and I give it to him. I also need a moment to drink whiskey and cry alone in my bathroom. So it's an even trade.
The next day we sit and talk about our options. In the hustle and bustle of all the shipments, we forgot the second most important part of our move. We had not effectively communicated what the plan was for the truck paperwork. In actuality, I know it was me, who tucked the box away after I thought I had taken every paper we needed. We go into DEFCON-5 problem solving mode. After we call every DMV, bank and a few friends we think are better adults than us, we are feeling pretty defeated. As a final Hail Mary, I call the moving company.
Our very gracious move coordinator tells me she will do what she can but our shipment may be gone. I wait, and wait. It felt like a 42 year wait, but I believe it was actually about 10 minutes. She calls back and says they have located our crates and are willing to let us rifle through them in two days. I am elated. Zac is skeptical that we will be able to locate ONE fire safe box from eleven crates.
The day arrives. We received snazzy vests and hit the warehouse. As we walk to our crates I feel like we are doing the "walk-of-shame." Everyone knows, we are here because we failed at adulting. Over the next hour or so we use process of elimination to determine the most likely boxes. After about 50 minutes we peel open a tightly wrapped package with our fire safe box inside. YAHTZEE. One move crisis averted.
On the drive home I ponder the day's activities. There is a voice in my head that is incredibly embarrassed and ashamed that I did not manage all of our paperwork effectively. That pit of doubt creeps into my psyche and makes me disappointed in myself. I mean, this is what I excel in, this is what I do well. How did I mess this up. Then, I am flooded with another thought. I AM ENOUGH. I am. Sure, I mess up. I am juggling 3 kids, a full time job, a move, the selling of 3 vehicles, the shipment of 17,000 pounds and all during a global pandemic. If I don't show myself some grace, I will surely drown. I will sink so low that swimming to the top will be impossible.
So, if you are out there and there is something you screwed up ROYALLY. Take heart friend, I screwed up worse. (But seriously, you are worthy of grace)