Holy blue slip Batman! Moving with kids feels a lot like work.
We are in the final stretch. In less than a month, Brian will be in Colorado. Essentially it is Brian's responsibility to move our dog and our stuff, find a new place, set up residence 1420 miles northwest of here, and find a job that will sustain a family of 6. It is my responsibility to care for four small children at my mother-in-law's house for an indefinite amount of time (until he's signed a lease), then drive with the kids 1420 miles northwest to our new home.
I think it's clear who has the bigger responsibility here.
I have been busy preparing, both for the move and for the trip. My family is more documented now than ever before. Everyone now has a birth certificate and a completed immunization record, and three of the four social security cards are in the same place (the fourth is around here somewhere). We've seen the dentist and pediatrician for final check-ups. I have started digging through the 5$ movie bins, stashing Diego movies for the impending trek, and we have been scouring end-of-the-year sales for winter gear (the best find so far has been a ski bib for Emmy, which begs the question, who stocks toddler ski bibs in Alabama anyway?). I spend nap times googling parks along the interstate, making notes on which hotels have indoor pools, and generally creating contingencies for when it all falls apart. In the early morning quiet I find myself wondering which children's audiobooks I should add to my phone before we leave. My life is consumed with planning.
Before we had children, we once moved not quite a thousand miles away. Do you know how I prepared for that trip? I put gas in the car.
It's not quite that easy with little ones in tow. But at least now I can find their blue slips.