New Home
We have recently relocated to Kansas City. Johnnie's mom's health is failing, and so Johnnie wanted to be out here to help his sister and aunt take care of her. The trip out was interesting: Johnnie drove a rental truck and trailer, and my dad drove me and Morgan in my car. We stopped along the way to introduce Morgan to Johnnie's father and his family, who had never made it out to see her. They were quite jazzed.
We arrived here on Sunday night, and Monday was a furious day of unloading the truck. I was carrying my skis to our room downstairs, and I missed the last step. I heard a snap as I fell, and wasn't sure if it was something in me, or my skis hitting the wall, until it started hurting. Three hours in the emergency room later, it turns out it's just a sprain, though a bad one. Johnnie and dad have been razzing me about getting out of doing any work.
Morgan did really well on the trip out here. She would get a little cranky towards the end of each day, but the rest of us were, too. The first leg of our trip (to Battle Mountain, NV), which was estimated to only take four and a half hours, ended up taking nine. From there to Salt Lake City, and from Salt Lake to Rawlins, Wyoming, only took as long as they were supposed to. Driving south to Colorado Springs, though, we hit Denver's rush hour, and that day was lengthened by about three hours as a result.
We spent a day in Colorado Springs with Johnnie's dad, stepmom, and half sister, who were all very excited to meet Morgan. It snowed overnight, though, so we drove away on snowy roads into rather heavy fog. It was a long push from C.S. to Kansas City (nine hours in favorable conditions), made longer by the slow progress out of Colorado and frequent stops to feed and change the baby. We've all made it here just fine, but it's not the kind of trip any of us would like to make again.
My twenty-three years of being a packrat really show when moving like this. My stuff has always been spread out between my grandmother, my dad, and wherever I was at the moment. I don't think it's all been in the same place at once, before. Definitely incentive to get off my butt and put together all my scrapbooks, so next time we won't have to cart around boxes and boxes of photos and memorabilia. Hmm, next time... hopefully next time will be the last. I hate moving.
~me
We arrived here on Sunday night, and Monday was a furious day of unloading the truck. I was carrying my skis to our room downstairs, and I missed the last step. I heard a snap as I fell, and wasn't sure if it was something in me, or my skis hitting the wall, until it started hurting. Three hours in the emergency room later, it turns out it's just a sprain, though a bad one. Johnnie and dad have been razzing me about getting out of doing any work.
Morgan did really well on the trip out here. She would get a little cranky towards the end of each day, but the rest of us were, too. The first leg of our trip (to Battle Mountain, NV), which was estimated to only take four and a half hours, ended up taking nine. From there to Salt Lake City, and from Salt Lake to Rawlins, Wyoming, only took as long as they were supposed to. Driving south to Colorado Springs, though, we hit Denver's rush hour, and that day was lengthened by about three hours as a result.
We spent a day in Colorado Springs with Johnnie's dad, stepmom, and half sister, who were all very excited to meet Morgan. It snowed overnight, though, so we drove away on snowy roads into rather heavy fog. It was a long push from C.S. to Kansas City (nine hours in favorable conditions), made longer by the slow progress out of Colorado and frequent stops to feed and change the baby. We've all made it here just fine, but it's not the kind of trip any of us would like to make again.
My twenty-three years of being a packrat really show when moving like this. My stuff has always been spread out between my grandmother, my dad, and wherever I was at the moment. I don't think it's all been in the same place at once, before. Definitely incentive to get off my butt and put together all my scrapbooks, so next time we won't have to cart around boxes and boxes of photos and memorabilia. Hmm, next time... hopefully next time will be the last. I hate moving.
~me