When I last left you, dear readers, our heroes were anxiously awaiting their sea shipment. Was the family reunited with their worldly goods? Did the container pass a Customs inspection? Was the whole process a big pain? (Long story short: yes, barely, and oh, most definitely.)
After weeks of anticipation, our 40-foot green metal container arrived on Saturday. Since Dan had gone to the rink to coach hockey with Nicholas and Jacob, the task fell on Ben and me to ensure that things went smoothly. As they opened the doors, I saw lots of packing paper poking out of open cartons...the crew boss told me that everything had been opened at Customs. I had to brush off a nagging paranoia (some might even say narcissism) that someone with Qatari Customs is a regular reader of my blog, and just wanted to teach me a lesson about expressing my lack of faith in their system. The company line: a shipment earlier in the week was found to contain TOY GUNS, so each subsequent shipment was given a good going-over (no doubt to counter the illicit toy gun trade). So far, it looks as though all our things are intact, which means that they missed our bibles AND our porn!
A crew of eight young men, clad in orange golf shirts, carried our boxes into the house in quick succession...I stood like royalty at my front door and told each mover in which room to put his carton. I was rewarded, after each "in the living room" and "in the kitchen" with a smile and a quiet "Yes, madame."
The piano was carried (yes, carried) off the truck by six guys, pushed up a ramp into the house and gently unwrapped. I don't think it's that far out of tune, but Mr. Perfect Pitch Ben disagrees. The bad news: my days as a task-master resume next week, along with piano lessons for everybody. The good news: no evidence of fish eggs.
In the weeks to come, we'll likely be able to fashion some nice bookcases out of all the leftover cardboard and our newly-delivered Allen wrenches. And, despite our house looking like a bomb just hit it, everyone here is pretty content: Jacob has his Lego, Nicholas his bike and hockey nets, Ben his scooter, and Dan his Bose system and coach's whistle. Even I got to spend some quality alone time with my Slap-Chop and garlic press yesterday. And, of course, there are the three little words that all the neighbourhood kids were waiting to hear: Air Hockey Table. Warning to our new neighbours: This could be a very loud winter.