Moving prep ate the whole week and I don’t have much upbeat to report.
Boxes everywhere, tape everywhere, dust clouds every time we open a closet. My mom’s hands have been calm for months, no cracking, no red patches. Then she spent an afternoon sorting old sweaters, and by evening she was rubbing at her wrist again. Not bad. Just that small tell I know too well.
I didn’t say anything. I just set the plain moisturizer on the arm of the couch. She saw it and gave me a look like, don’t make this a thing, so I let it go.
The cats have decided every open box belongs to them! One knocked over a stack of folded towels this morning and sat in the wreckage looking unbothered. I laughed for a second, then remembered the unfinished job applications and the deposit the movers are waiting on.
I know packing dust isn’t an actual flare. I know it’s probably nothing. But some part of me keeps watching her hands anyway, and carrying that quietly on top of everything else this move already is gets tiring.