We moved last week on Wednesday. It’s the first move Justin & I’ve had
together, and it wasn’t even that big–five miles up the hill, closer to Justin’s work, into a nice newly-built little townhome.
Wednesday we moved in, and everything went off without a hitch–even though I was banned from carrying anything, no matter how light it was. You’d think that the first night in a new place would be the worst, but we slept soundly for the most part. Fumes from the newly-sealed garage drifted into the house, thanks to the wind, and we awoke the next morning to 3/4 inch hail bouncing off our vehicles, but nothing was panic worthy.
Then came Friday.
It was around 1 when we got to bed. Within moments, Justin and I were drifting off to sleep. I heard a thud–and it sounded like it came from the garage. Then I heard what sounded like someone laughing outside our house. I laid still and stiff, hoping it was just my imagination, that the startlement would wear off and I’d drift back to sleep.
A few minutes later, Justin started to get up. “I’m going to go check on the cars,” he said. He sounded casual, but I knew much, much better.
“You heard it too!”
“Oh, great. I was hoping you hadn’t.”
So we got up and snuck to the living room, after loading up our pist
ol and his .22. We peeked out of the blinds for a few minutes, then flipped the outside lights on and kept watching. No one appeared, so Justin prowled around the front and garage while I stood in the doorway, watching the perimeter of the lights.
Needless to say, we found nothing amiss.
A few minutes later when we were back in bed, we heard it again. We both sat up and listened, waiting for the next sound, when we realized that we could hear our refrigerator running fairly loudly.
“I think it’s something in the fridge’s run cycle,” Justin said.
I felt like smacking myself in the forehead. Of all the things, to be fooled by a stupid appliance. We made a few jokes about getting attacked by the fridge, then settled back down and finally went to sleep.
But it’s not the end of the Friday.
Around 8 or so, I woke up to another, much closer thud. I sat up and saw Justin cradling his head, blood trickling underneath his fingers. He’d bashed his forehead against the corner of his new nightstand, making a lovely little triangular cut right above his eyebrow.
Oh, wonderful, I thought. We’re going to have to go to the ER and get his head stitched up. After getting the blood to stop, though, it wasn’t that bad of a cut, so I applied liquid bandage to it and we got up for the day.
And so we embarked on our last adventure–trying out the moped Justin borrowed from a friend. Since we’re only two miles from work, Justin thought it would be fun to start driving a moped to work. He’d putted around on it before, but we both wanted to just do something a little silly.
As we walked out of the house, Justin told me not to mess with the doorknob, because he’d already made sure it wasn’t locked.
I swear I touched nothing.
But you see where this is going, don’t you?
Yup, after putting around on the moped for a while and getting much too cold, we tried to get back in the house…and the knob would not turn.
“I said not to mess with it!” Justin told me.
“I didn’t touch it!” I said.
Justin groaned and dug into his toolbox, and finally managed to get inside. He fiddled with the knob and realized that our doorknobs will still turn on the inside even when locked. So, yes, it wasn’t my fault, it was because of a funky doorknob.
Our house was smarter than us that day. As a friend said when I posted about it on Facebook, it must have been growing pains. And I agree. It sure felt like growing pains–not so funny when they’re happening, but hilarious once you’ve had a few days for your perspective to adjust.
I just hope the growing is over for a while.