My mom first came to visit her new grandsons at the beginning of August. When she went back home to California, she casually mentioned to my dad that she wouldn’t be opposed to moving to Oregon. My dad called me up and demanded to know: “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Then my dad came for a visit. Both of their trips were in the middle of those 100 degree weeks we had in August. They had only ever visited in the summer. I tried to explain that Portland weather is not always sunny and hot. They waved me off, saying, “Yes, yes, we know it rains and it gets cold. But it’s not as bad as New England, right?” And no, Oregon winters are not as bad as New England.
Then my mom visited again, and by the end of August, she found a house she liked. Then my dad visited again and agreed on the house. They decided to buy it. The put in an offer, and with some negotiation, by the end of September, the house was theirs.
Then they got the process started to sell their house in California. There was some concern that maybe their California house wouldn’t sell, and they’d be stuck owning two houses. And what fun that would be!
They needn’t have worried. My mum has an expert eye for home design. Their house was beautiful. They had an open house and got more offers than what you can count on two hands. Within three days of the house being on the market, they accepted an offer.
Okay? By the end of October, they had bought a house and sold a house. Everything closed on both ends. They packed up all their stuff last week. My mom flew up and stayed with us. My dad caravanned the cars and dogs up Route 5 with his brother and a friend. On the day they arrived, it was raining.
Today, their stuff arrives and they are moving into their new house. It’s been just under three months since my mum thought they might, maybe, potentially, consider moving to Oregon.
So what I’m saying is: My parents don’t fuck around.