I have helped my parents move 3 times in my adult life, and each time I have said this is it. This is the last move until we send you to a nursing home.
And yet, yesterday found me helping them move again. This time I did not say it will be the last time, mostly because I really do think it will be the last time. When you walk into their little Hobbit House, it feels like the perfect fit. It's warm and cozy and shines with all the hard work given to it in the last few weeks, and I can see them living there forever.
I was apprehensive heading into the moving day because I was the only sister able to be there to physically move things, and I have a ankle I don't want to make worse, and two out of three sons-in-law had to work, and we were basically counting on 5 teenage boys and two girls.
It was the easiest move I've ever helped do! I only carried small boxes in, the boys did all the heavy lifting including the freezer and the china closet, and the girls unpacked boxes like pro's. We could not have done it without our wonderful group of kids and friends.
As I watched the boys wrestle a slippery couch into the room, and the girls unwrap box after box of fragile pretties each individually wrapped in paper, I thought this is one of those great things about kids growing up: their adult sized help!