I wasn’t planning on writing anything else about our move because, honestly, who wants to read that – but the whole thing was such a wild ride that Kyle basically insisted I record it here for posterity. So, here we go:
I’m sure that most people are highly organized and methodical when it comes to moving, but Kyle and I are not those people. We made the foolhardy decision to both sell our old house and buy our new house on the same Friday – meaning we had until 10:00am on Friday to get everything out of our old house, because after that it would belong to someone else. Fortunately, the homeowners of our new house had kindly given us permission to put our stuff in their garage a week before the move; and you’d assume that I would have taken advantage of that generosity by packing up early, but I didn’t. Instead, I booked our movers for Thursday. In my head, the movers would have our stuff out by 5:00pm, which would give me several hours to clean up and weep over memories before getting a good night’s sleep at our rental house* and then stopping at Starbucks before heading to the title company for the closings.
It was a balmy 82 degrees when we awoke on Thursday. The movers arrived at 8:45am, just as I had started to sweat through my underwear. By the time lunch had rolled around, the temperature had risen to something roughly akin to the surface of the sun – proving too much for one of our movers, who had to leave due to heatstroke. Our other mover worked his butt off, but by 5:00 there was still about 10% left to be packed up first thing in the morning.
“We’re supposed to close tomorrow morning,” I told the owner of the moving company over the phone.
There was a pause. “It’ll be fine,” he said.
For the next several hours, Kyle and I packed and cleaned, cleaned and packed, and drove a million miles back and forth from our old house to the new one. We finally threw in the (disgusting) towel at 1:00am. Kyle was up and out with the sun to meet the movers. I got our boys fed and deposited with the babysitter, and attempted to shower off the top layer of slime before driving to the title company to close.
My phone buzzed twice as I pulled into the parking lot.
“The new homeowners want you to know that they are fine with you taking the time you need after the closing to finish up at the house,” read my realtor’s text.
“The moving company sent extra guys and we’re almost done,” read Kyle’s text.
I breathed a tiny sigh of relief, and the phone rang. It was the bank.
“The underwriter isn’t quite ready,” our banker told me. “So we’ll have to push back your closing to later…probably this afternoon.”
“Both closings?” I asked.
“No,” said the banker. “Just the new house.”
“What if we don’t get underwriter approval?” I asked.
There was a pause. “It’ll be fine,” he said.
Kyle showed up to the closing looking like he had just emerged from an active volcano. After we finished selling our house (to the sweetest little family), I told him about the conversation with the bank.
“But I can’t sign this afternoon,” he told the title processor, our realtor, and me. “I have baseball.”
Oh, right. Kyle was the head coach of our son’s baseball team, I told everyone, and that particular weekend (specifically, that very moment) was the state tournament. I’m guessing the dates for the state tournaments are set years in advance; but even if they weren’t, they were in place when we nonchalantly blindfolded our eyes and played pin-the-closing-date-on-the-calendar back when we wrote up the offer on our new house. Nevertheless, Kyle couldn’t just sub in a replacement coach to attend another closing; there were all sorts of background checks and sign-offs and rules for state.
There was a pause. “It’ll be fine,” our realtor said.
We left the title company with two hours to spare before Kyle (and our son) had to be at the diamond. Kyle went back to the rental house to shower and change, and I headed out to the old house to make sure everything was squared away. I was pulling into the driveway when my phone rang again. It was Kyle.
“I accidentally packed my sneakers,” he said.
“Can you wear your flip-flops?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I’m going to run to the store.”
I met Kyle walking back into the rental. He was still filthy, but notably slightly less stressed, and carrying a shopping bag.
“They told me that I had been a good customer, so they gave me the shoes for free,” he said.
“Holy cow,” I said. My phone buzzed.
“The underwriter gave final approval, and so we’re going to come to the baseball field and finalize your sale,” our realtor texted.
“Holy cow,” I said.
Thirty minutes later, Kyle, our title processor, our realtor, and I sat in the parking lot of Apollo Field and signed for our new home; just four cool dudes hanging out in a sedan at the baseball park. Kyle had to leave at one point to turn in his lineup. To the dozens of people who walked by while this was happening, it probably looked like a very thorough (I mean, we had a notary stamp and a ream of paper) drug deal. Our realtor gave us both a set of cloth napkins (re: my story two weeks ago) and a set of house keys. After it was done, I celebrated with a Popsicle from the concession stand.
Thank you to our realtor and the title processor for coming to the baseball field. Thank you to the moving company for getting our stuff all squared away at the new house while we signed away the old one. Thank you to our babysitter for changing her schedule, and to our friends for watching our youngest son while we did our parking lot purchase. Thank you to my parents who arrived later that day, took the boys for a hotel sleepover, and set up our new kitchen. Thank you to the old house’s new homeowners who gave us a lot of grace, and the new house’s old homeowners for letting us move in early. Thank you to the store who gave my husband shoes. Thank you to our awesome old neighbors who offered to stay up late and help us move, and our awesome new neighbors for coming over and introducing themselves. Thank you to our amazing friends who invited us to stay at their houses when they found out we were in a rental, and to our other amazing friends who brought over dinner and threw us a “welcome to the rental neighborhood” barbecue.
And finally, thank you to my great-grandfather for setting down his peddler’s cart in Grand Forks, North Dakota so that we could be lucky enough to know all of these nice people.
The photo above is my backseat view of our house closing.
This week’s news has a pile of pancakes, a pack of pantries, and a high-flying engagement. Read on.
The community of Hankinson helped 14-year-old Logan Falk celebrate being cancer-free. (Wahpeton Daily News)
The Jamestown Fire Department flipped pancakes for 1,000 people as a part of Jamestown’s Buffalo Days. (News Dakota)
“I dare you to look up at the stars, not down at the mud, and set your sights on one of them that, up to now, you thought was unattainable.” – Grand Forks’ Cliff Cushman in a letter to area youth (which has been reprinted for 57 years) after tripping over a hurdle at the 1964 Olympics (Grand Forks Herald)
Lidgerwood’s Cooper Hinrichs saved a teenager who had gotten in trouble in Otter Tail Lake. (Fargo Forum)
BIO Girls – a group of 2nd through 6th graders in Bismarck – are restocking Little Free Pantries throughout the city. (KX Net)
NDSU’s Connor Wendel and Macy Denzer got engaged at the top of the Ferris wheel at the North Dakota State Fair. (KX Net)
The North Dakota Highway Patrol is in the running to win “Best Looking Cruiser” in the country – with winner becoming a January calendar model. (KX Net)