Nothing as chaotic or unorganised as a move on short notice can pass without at least one truly humiliating event occurring in it's midst. Here is the high (or low, depending on your perspective) point of our move.
Since Baby Girl was teething, and had a stomach bug, and was totally traumatized on the DAY OF THE MOVE I had to leave most of the last-minute packing to my mother and grandmother, who had made the two hour treck to help me in my hour of need.
That was all fine and dandy, if not a little annoying due to my overwhelming dislike of having other people (even my relatives) handle my possessions.
The move came and went, my helpful annoying relatives went home, and MJ and I were left to the unpacking. As I rifled through boxes and suitcases, trying to remember where my mother and grandmother had told me they put certain things, I came to a horrifying realization. Two floggers and a leather strap that we had bought at the kinky flea market had been left in the closet, since there was no room in the tool box. I had intended to pack them myself, but with Baby Girl and all the upheaval they had left my mind. I recalled my grandmother saying that she had packed the contents of the closet into one of our large suitcases. My stomach turned as I unzipped the bag and began feeling around inside. Sure enough, my hand brushed the leather tails of one of the floggers and instant embarrassment set in.
OH MY GOD, my grandmother saw some of our...instruments.
I can just picture her standing there, looking at them. And then she probably called my mom into the room and said "What do you suppose these are for?"
If my mom saw them I can almost guarantee that sooner or later she will broach the subject, even if it is just to get reassurance that we do not use those 'things' on our children.
Perhaps I will be fortunate and she will suffer selective amnesia.