Moving and fathers

entering the chaos with bravery

It’s Father’s day and it’s our last week before we move. (Happy father’s day to all the dads out there!) Although Aaron and I have moved houses several times together, this is our first move as a family with kids. I can’t help but reflect on the countless moves I experienced up until now and the role my parents played in them. I have so many memories of packing up houses, loading up moving trucks, unpacking boxes to reunite with our own toys, knick-knacks, and household items as if they were forgotten treasures. As a young adult, I moved several times between dorm rooms and apartments. Every single time, my parents came out to help me and it was always a hilarious adventure.

There was the time my parents and I drove a U-Haul out to New York City filled with furniture and boxes to fill my very first apartment. My dad didn’t notice the no commercial trucks or vehicles permitted sign before getting on the Saw Mill Parkway to enter the city. We found ourselves panicked and stalled before creeping through an overpass. My mom was hanging out of the passenger-side window to see if we could clear the height as my dad inched the truck forward, praying not to scrape the top, while they screamed at each other over the loud whoosh of traffic and angry honking.

Then there was the time my parents came out to help me move into my first apartment with my boyfriend at the time, now husband, Aaron. After arguing unsuccessfully with the President of the building’s co-op board to allow us to use the elevator, we walked all of my belongings down three flights of stairs to the truck double-parked on the very congested and busy Ocean Avenue in Brooklyn. My dad was standing on the street carrying my full-size mattress, preparing to lift it into the back of the truck, when an unusually strong wind hit the mattress like a sail, and he flew, pressed against the mattress in the style of a flying squirrel, into the middle of the street, traffic coming at him in both directions. In shock and hilarity, he quickly gathered himself and the mattress back to the sidewalk as we all erupted in laughter and relief that he didn’t get hit by a car.

Every move has become a memory I can laugh at, even through the hardest parts, like when my mom cried at the sight of our first apartment, or when Aaron and I both cried at the sight of our second apartment. (I’ve determined nothing is as stressful as moving in and within and out of New York City so we are basically capable of handling anything, including a multi-state move over two years with two children under 5 in tow, while searching for a unicorn property from afar and sustaining two freelancing musician careers).

All to say, I am thankful for the fathers, I am thankful for the moves, I am thankful for the adventures of life that continue to surprise, challenge, and inspire me. Holding onto all of this as we enter our very last week living in Nashville and endure the chaos of packing up our home and studio! Wish us luck!