Moving in with Mom

My quaint family of four had been residing in a cooperative building for the past three years. In these apartment shares, you own your residence, though there are homeowner’s fees, rules and standards that you have to live by. Over the past year and a half, my next door neighbor had been making complaints, both to us and the homeowner’s association about anything he could think to complain about. According to him, the smell of our breakfast, the volume of our television, the sound of children’s footsteps, the way we closed the front door and the amount of guests we entertained weekly made us the worst neighbors in the world. My husband and I spoke extensively to each other about the situation and decided that we would not retaliate, but instead, apologize, be cautious about our actions, and do our best to be better neighbors. This was the plan. 

Upon the implementation of “Operation Better Neighbors”, we listened to the television at a minimal volume setting, quietly closed the front door during early or late hours, insisted to our children that they refrain from any running, jumping or normal play activities in the house, and ran the kitchen ventilation system every time we cooked anything. Unfortunately, our plan was an absolute failure. Though we were fortuitous in our attempt to appease him, our neighbor’s complaints did not cease and it was unanimously decided that we should leave the co-op.

So began the adventure of selling our apartment, purchasing a house, packing and inevitably moving. If you have ever moved from one residence to another, you know this is no small feat. Add two children to the equation and the complexity of it all becomes daunting. Three months after the initial decision, our apartment was under contract. One month after that, boxes and boxes were stacked up and ready to go; but where? Luckily, we found a house, but since we needed to be out of the co-op before we were ready to close on the new house, we moved in with my mother.

One and a half months later, boxes in storage and the four of us crowded into my mother’s abode, we are approaching the time when we can move out of mom’s, move in to our new house, and begin the arduous yet very rewarding task of unpacking. 

Spending time with mom is wonderful, but the relocation is made all the more challenging with the added pressure of coping with diabetes. Simple things like finding a new pharmacy, to more complex issues like what box did I pack my son's pump in? adds another dimension to moving in with mom with the notion that we will relocate one more time before finally completing this move and settling in to our new home.