Three months ago my husband and I, sans kids, finalized closing plans on two houses—one in New Yawk and the other in Tucson, Arizona. Yes, Tucson, Arizona. Geographically and diametric opposites in topography, climate, population over-growth, loud lawn mowers and snotty attitudes.

Now, I’m not saying that ALL New Yorkers have snotty attitudes. Just the natives. Especially around tourist season time. Which, lately, seems to run ‘round-the-clock, thanks to a diminishing return on our good ole’ American dollar compared to European and Eastern currency. So it’s not just the Germans wearing leather shorts, white socks and sandals that will annoy, it’s the camera-toting, uh, every other cultural persuasion that has invaded our city-that-will-not-die.

And after too many years fighting the commuting crowd, paying exorbitant tolls, wear-and-tear on cars, etc., my hub Lew bagged his New York Times editor position and I merely switched freelancing from East to West coasts. The kids? Time for a confession. My kids, raised by their father (okay, I’m the mother, but it helps me to pretend I’m far younger than my driver’s license would have you believe).

But with the right lighting and after 4 p.m. I can pull off a late 30s demeanor. As in 30-12. Enough about me. So not only did we have to contend with closing on two coasts, scrambling for boxes from assorted outlets (don’t get boxes that held food stuff, trust me on that. And then BAM. I get hit with another life-stressor.)

Four days after Mother’s Day, my mom died. Yes, she lived an amazingly long life and was her-old-self until the end. Meaning complaining about everything, especially the Philadelphia humidity. In fact, I spoke with her the day before she passed and told her those three words that helped me get through. I told her “I love you.” And just like that, the next day she was gone.

All past transgressions far removed, forgiven and stored away. Yet, this added emotional stress put so much tension on my typically frenetic personality, I nearly had a nervous breakdown. Wouldn’t you? By some amazing twist of fate (thank you Bob Dylan) our daughter Emily (yes, she’s out of the house and living in California, another reason for the Westward trek) had surprised me with the best gift on Mother’s Day: she along with dad and bro Ben sneakily planned to bring her home. Seeing here was one of the best shocks my system could hold.

Here’s the weird-Karma part—she was with me when I got “the” call about my mother. If Emily hadn’t been there to hold me and comfort me, I would have been alone except for Maggie, our pound rescue pup. Good dog, but not great with saying the right things.

So, Emily became my mother and the full circle closed. It was eerie and special, for which I will be eternally grateful. Afterwards, the house snafus seemed less and less important, although the banks played with our heads a lot. Just the New Jersey branch (don’t ask) which almost ruined our life by not transferring a bank check.

Moving, such a joy! So, rather than do a massive roadtrip with Lew, Emily, Maggie and as much stuff you could cram into our little Nissan. Me, not so brave. I flew out and created a humongous hotel bill waiting for the house to be ready.

I was so stressed out, I immediately checked out some local spa/resorts. Because that’s my “other” job, writing for spa-related magazines and travel venues. Hey, someone has to do it, right?

Here’s what I discovered: summer in Tucson is nearly unbearable, except for the adage that happens to be true: “It’s a dry heat.” Except this summer, the traditionally not-so-humid “monsoon” season (which just means it rains almost every day, evaporates and produces some cool thunderstorms and lightning shows.

Another aside: another reason for our move is this chronic nerve pain I suffer from thanks to a speeding bicyclist who crashed into me, causing my skull to crash into the street. Resulting in my lovely 6-year relationship with chronic pain. Anyhoo, after a half-dozen trips to Arizona and miraculously having the pain disappear, my doc and I agreed we needed to move or pack it in.

By the way, doctors will be thrilled to prescribe heavy duty “pain-killers” that never worked on me. I just became a zombie-writer, usually found in an air conditioned room tightly wound in a fetal position.

So, Tucson was inevitable and it took four years of careful planning. Unfortunately, the summer’s humidity has triggered the chronic pain once again, so my quest for wellness spas began in earnest even before our address changed.

And, while summer in Arizona keeps the tourists away, it provides some incredible opportunities for the locals. Of which, I proudly boast, I am one.

So, for all you fellow type-a moms (regardless of your kids’ ages) let me suggest an easy alternative to endless drives to “educational” outings or summer camp. Find a resort nearby and troll the internet for some fabu rates. For example, one resort I found, not far from my home-to-be, called Westward Look Resort not only has incredible deals (the West is soooooo much cheaper than the East, btw) but accommodations and spa services that helped me through this tense, stressed-out transition.

The food was amazing, not too fancy-schmancy but plentiful, the ground astounding: views of mountains and desert all over the place; swimming pool and even kids’ activities to get them out of your hair while you’re at the spa.

And if you’re brave enough to chance a summer vacay in the West, the deals will amaze you. And get this: one morning I awoke and watched a BOBCAT stroll under my balcony! It was so amazingly beautiful, I cried. Ok, maybe my nerves were a little on edge. But come on, when’s the last time some wildlife cruised your hotel? It wasn’t threatening or threatened, and made me believe in the possibility that mankind will come to its sense and REALLY protect wildlife and the environment, much to the dismay of 43.

This resort helped create a safe haven for me, a time when I needed relaxation and a stress-free experience the most. I got it. Check out the web and the deals. It’s not too late—many airlines are cutting flight costs considerably. Especially when you check out a site like Bestfares.com, although those can be annoying, too.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a few other resorts with extra incentives, especially for families. El Conquistador resort served as base for most of my stay and the site couldn’t be on more gorgeous property. I didn’t see any Bobcat, but plenty of unusual birds, lots of cottontail bunnies, free from cages (I hate caged bunnies!) and assorted lizards. Cute, from a distance.

Three other places I’ve written about are worth checking out for de-stressification (is that a word?). Whatever. I’m talking about a lesser-known property, Loew’s Ventana, with fabulous kid programs, swimming pools with slides and food that’s worth the calories. Hey, chocolate is good for stress, right? I’m sticking with that story.

My other top tier recommendation is the JW Starr Pass Resort, also teeming with family activities, great deals (hurry up or start planning for next summer) and the ultimate (not so great for kids, but you can park them at the Westward Look )— Miraval Resort. You know, Oprah’s place. I didn’t even know it was O’s fave place because I’m not an afternoon-tv-person. But if you do go, check out this amazing Cowboy dude, Wayne Wyatt, who puts corporate types through their paces with horses. It’s a program like no other and I, uh, heard they also offer some sex-program.

Not to mention Dr. Andrew Weill, the health guru who resembles a graying Santa.

I plan on reporting on other amazing places (from my back”yard” whose view is of, say, a coupla mountains. Sure beats hearing the roar of a power mower in the morning and incessant honking and cellphone idiots who stand on their porches and talk REALLL loud……)

Stay tuned for an update on our unpacking. Oh, and some more details about my non-stressed out kids and Lew. Maggie still freaks when it thunders, but at least she doesn’t have to deal with a 100-year-old Victorian house with its inevitable million steps. We have a ranch house! Maggie is giving off gratitude vibes. That or, passing SBDs……

Stay calm, take deep breathes and plan on coming for a visit.

Naomi, Yo Momma!

So. If it’s an “easy” move, say from one apartment to another, be thankful you’re not selling/buying a house. Apartment living has already worked your last nerve, but at least you won’t have a house-load of furniture, memorabilia, crap your husband won’t part with (old hockey pucks ring any bells?) and your own crap, uh, stuff.

Of course, you may have an apartment filled to the rafters with stuff (been there, too) but a good way to deal is to throw out, re-gift new stuff, hand down old and go light. For instance, our last move forced me to re-evaluate clothes. As a freelance writer, I rarely “dress up” unless during face-to-face interviews.

So what was I doing with an old black evening gown, assorted skirts (I hate skirts) and nightgowns I’ve never worn?

I’m an “over-sized tee shirt and sweatpants” kind of sleeper. Buh-bye nightgowns, fancy-schmancy dresses and “pantyhose-job” clothes. Those would include any clothes I might have from days of having to work in an office. Ugh.

So, whittle away as much as you can in order to move the least amount possible. If you’re a keeper of EVERYTHING your kids have ever drawn, written or papier-mached (guilty), re-evaluate and get rid of some of it. Maybe not the pre-school artwork that looks like a Rorschach test (Ben), but definitely all the baby teeth.

Save the funny things they might have said, ditch the elementary school report cards (maybe save 6th grade) and move on. Do this with your kids so they won’t be shocked when they can’t find Petey the Penguin. Hey, if they were there when you all decided what to heave, remind them and don’t cave in and apologize.

What’s most important are pictures. Unless you have duplicates, save the pictures. And if you really want to cut down on the weight of all your stuff (especially if you’re dealing with a moving company that charges by weight), consider getting rid of all your heavy frames and just take the photos. You can always find new frames and those suckers can be heavy!

If your household includes pets, reassure your wee ones that yes, Maggie will move too and Thumper won’t be left behind either. If you have no pets to worry about—good for you! Lew (hub) and I are both suckers when it came to dogs and Emily. So, we went through quite a few. I know it sounds callous and I don’t mean it to be. We even adopted a retired Greyhound once. Don’t ask.

But Maggie, a dog-pound mutt with the best eyebrows, is a keeper, and she’s been with us for 10 years. If you got sucked into the pet-whining and caved, your kids will be thrilled to know that Baby and Pinkeye (hamsters) are part of the family, no matter how disgusting their habitats.

There are also some decent books out there for little kids that deal with moving. A few weeks beforehand, scout them out at the library and start reading. Knowing that many families move around (especially military families) will ease their anxiety. Yours, too.

Remember, keep it light and it’ll work out just fine. Repeat that sentence like a mantra and you may even believe it yourself.

Happy Trails!

No wonder moving is one of the top ten stressors of life, up there with divorce and unemployment. Yep, it’s no picnic, but if you gottta go, you gotta go. And if you perform tightrope baby steps during the process, you’ll still have one or two wits left by the time the Movers arrive.

How do I know “so much” about this subject? Hmm, let’s see: by the time I graduated high school my family of origin (FOA) had moved about a dozen times. It was during a time when a divorced mother (mine) practically had the letter “D” in red on her shirt. So she schlepped four, sometimes five, of us from one address to another, just a few steps before the “Eviction Notice.”

And you thought your childhood was rough. After I was married we moved about five times before kids and only once after. It was important to me that my kids have the experience of a single school system. The opposite of what I had gone through. Of course, they had their own problems to work out, but that’s another column. Or three. Or seven...

This sage wisdom is about moving with smaller fry. If they’re pre-verbal, no explanation is necessary. You’re off the hook! Good timing!

If you’re a Navy wife, your kids will have been born with a tiny backpack so it’s no biggie to trade locales. But if you’re a regular ole Type A mom from the city or the ‘burbs, and if your kids are talking and asking too many questions, you’ll have lotsa ‘splaining to do. Just be prepared, like a Boy Scout.

If the moving happens before a school year starts, more the better. In fact, PLEASE do this for your kids. They will not know how important this is. They’ll feel bad enough missing their friends, imagine how humiliating it would be for them to be “the new kid” in school at the same time? Might as well drop them at school with a “Kick Me” sign already on their backs.

So. Now that you’ve wisely waited until summer to plan your move, what to do with the under ten crowd? If you can stand your neighbors, why not plan for a block “farewell” party so your kids will have that to remember (and you’ll no doubt tape it for posterity) as a positive.

Or have a small group of his real friends (not everyone from his class) over for a good-bye party and make it fun. Maybe have each friend talk into a mic about his friendship. They’ll goof around and it will be fun later, when they think they’ll never have friends again. It’s a good tool for getting over that hump. Trust me on that.

When you start packing (does anyone really let movers pack their stuff?) make sure your kids each have their own “comfort” box to be opened immediately upon arrival at the new abode. This box should contain: the favorite stuffed animal/toy at the time; favorite blanky (if they’re wee ones) or even a favorite Gameboy. Whatever. As long as they know what’s the most important stuff they want to see ASAP when they get to the new strange house.

Natch, if it’s THE most important toy/thing it will ride with its owner. We’re talking the other stuff.

When you get to the new place and you don’t hear the kids crying (that comes later) you will be so relieved you won’t even notice how the movers’ bill suddenly cost $3,000 more than it should have. Maybe you should pack your own comfort box, too. Husbands are usually deemed the “handler of the bill problem” while you pretend to worry about the kids.

That settled, your kids (and you) will need time to discover your new environs.

Oh, by the way, my husband and I are about to move from Long Eyeland to Tucson, Arizona. Stay tuned.

Funny, irreverent and optimistically cynical, I’m a quintessential New York Momma with a slight difference. I live on Long Island, and have two perfect children—Emily and Benjamin. Okay, maybe not completely perfect, but every child is perfect, right? Especially yours!

What I’d love to do here is address common issues, add a little humor to the equation, maybe even some travel tips (we’re fast approaching the wonderful world of Summer Vacation!) to ease your pain, I mean, enjoy quality time with and without the young ‘uns.

What do I know? I know less and less these days, as memory cells diminish, but I know children—mine and lots of others. So, let’s get down to business: Benjamin (who told me he was officially “Ben, mommy”) when he was six, is a delightful child in temperament, personality and not so bad in the brains department. Emily (who is now officially “Emmy”) is my first born and you know what that means—she was REALLY pissed off when we brought Ben home from the hospital.

In fact, and this is true, so I don’t want angry letters—nice ones are welcome. When Emily (who is 27 months older than Benjamin, ok, Ben) saw us bring Ben home after seeing him in the nursery, she was devastated. “But mommy, I wanted the black baby.” Too bad kid. But I did buy her a Black Baby doll which she loved to pieces, named “Robin.”

And she learned to tolerate, even enjoy Ben…until….you know—he started crawling and getting into her stuff. Bigg no-no with Miss Emily, whose personality led my husband (Lewis-but prefers Lew…oy vey with the names) and I to believe Em would make a terrific trial lawyer. Always negotiating, always bargaining, darling Em was a…..challenge and a delight! Because she’s perfect!

And as for my background (in case you think I’m a horrible mother—telling the truth and all): I am a freelance travel/entertainment writer who used to have a weekly column on parenting in Newsday (when it was still a good paper). I’ve also been published in The New York Times, lots of daily papers and travel magazines. Blah blah blah.

I’ve been through it all—diaper dilemmas (eww—cloth), sibling rivalry, eating oddities, playtime rules and playgroups. Also, I’m a huge fan of doing stuff with your kids—even if it’s just worm-hunting in the yard. Going to an age-appropriate live play would be preferred, but you can’t always get what you want. Mick Jagger stole that line from me.

I plan on updating this as often as possible, considering we’re embarking on a huge move West. And my title? Well, I grew up (sort of) in Philadelphia and Yo! is a real greeting. Remember the first Rocky? (Let’s pretend the others never happened.) He was always “Yo” this and “Yo” that. “Yo Adrienne!” Remember? So, it’s a little homage to a city I couldn’t wait to leave. Fortunately, my kids did not experience the lovely City of Brotherly Love (whose murder rate is….) which is a good thing.

Next time, we can discuss different ages and stages as well as good places to go with your family this summer.

Catch you later.

Naomi Serviss