(Duces Vancouver. It’s been real.)
Stuff everything into boxes and load into moving van.
Make sure it’s raining and truck leaks, allowing your worldly possessions to marinate in an inch of crusty truck water.
Drive everything to the storage unit. For bonus points, make sure you cross a border with immigration check. Those are always fun.
Check and double check.
Upgrade to a heated unit in the hopes of drying out soggy boxes, especially that one labeled “bedroom closet” and “photos”.
Check. I hate this move.
Donate all unwanted furniture to charity, including the bed. Attempt to sleep on the floor only to realize you’re no longer ten-years-old.
Wake at the ass crack of dawn, broken and sore with a budding bladder infection.
Check and check. I wish I were kidding about the latter.
Try to shove everything you’re taking with you into the rental car, clean up the last remaining rooms you put off cleaning.
Check. This rental just became a clown car.
Become wracked with a fever, body aches, and the need to piss razor blades every few minutes. Say screw it to cleaning. Pile you, your kid, your husband, and the cat into the rental, and head out.
Drive an hour out of the way to drop your beloved cat off at a no-kill shelter because your landlords asked you to move three months earlier than expected, forcing you to live with family for an unknown amount of time, making it impossible to bring the cat with you.
Screw this move.
Make it over the US/Canadian border without a hitch, drive for two days through rain and snow, with a grumpy toddler, burning urethra and aching body to arrive, finally, at your in-laws in the middle of the night.
Worst. Move. Ever.
Living in Vancouver wasn’t something I enjoyed, mostly because it wasn’t at all what I expected. I suggest avoiding expectations of how awesome you think a place is going to be before arriving. It’s those delusions of grandeur that will get you. I found Vancouver to be a very lonely city. I went from being a working woman with a graduate degree and several very good friends, to a stay-at-home mom with no support network (no friends, no family, and no outlet for the long rainy season). So it’s only fitting that Vancouver would give us an aggressive lovebite on our way out.
I don’t really blame our landlords for asking us to leave before our visas expired. It’s really expensive to live/rent in Metro Vancouver, let alone buy a home. So when they asked for the apartment back for their daughter and new son-in-law, I couldn’t really fault them. Although, at times, they did become the target of my irritation for all the hoops we were having to jump through in ending our sojourn abroad several months earlier than planned. Oh, the life of a renter.
Anyhow, we’re back in our beloved Northen California, enjoying family, the best views a cityscape can offer (at least in my opinion), and amazing Mexican food. God, how I missed pollo asado. Tacos, burritos, and enchiladas, oh my!