Moving to a new place...a chance to start over, a fresh start at almost anything, and new surroundings to spice things up. RIIIIIIGGGHHHTTT. Maybe if I was still fresh out of college moving would be exciting and promise-filled. However, call me crazy, but when you move three times within three years, it somehow loses it's appeal. I can't imagine why.
My always-look-on-the-bright-side husband used to love the idea of moving to a new place. He WAS excited about this move, until I became seven months pregnant and he realized there would be very little I could do to help him.
I spent every day sweating like a pig, feeling like my feet were going to fall off, and shamelessly complaining about the 100+ degree heat only to look back at my husband struggling to squeeze our whole dresser through our tiny apartment door... ALONE. I suddenly felt like an emotionally disturbed child who was throwing a fit, as I carried my ten pound limit boxes one by one to my car. That was only the tip of the iceberg.
It took us an entire week to move everything from our apartment into our house. Most of you are thinking, "well sure it takes about a week usually to get everything moved from point A to point B," and you would be correct, if it weren't for the fact that we were moving from a ONE bedroom apartment people..not a large house.
First of all, let me say, I have no clue how I even began to fit all of my kitchen supplies into the small apartment kitchen, because as I slowly unpacked the many many boxes for the kitchen at the house, I had to re-pack six of them and place them in the attic. My cabinets are now filled to the brim, and if one pot moves a millimeter it's disaster city. The same story goes for the bathroom. I mean, why do I have so many towels? We could built a nuclear bomb shelter with the amount of towels I have collected over the years. So half of those ended up in boxes as well.
Other than those two rooms, we have NO furniture. I have gleefully carried boxes into the living room, excited to unpack and arrange things in decorative ways, only to re-pack them while having my billionth emotional breakdown because we have no storage for the items in the boxes.
Let's just end with saying this. You will find me tonight, having cooked a wonderful meal in the only room of the house that's put together in any form or fashion, sitting at my kitchen table with my Lemon tea and Lemon Pound Cake slice made from scratch (ha!) AND my feet that have now swelled to the size of Dumbo's feet, surrounded by boxes and junk that I can't even begin to fathom where to place it. If this house ever does come together and I still have my life in tact by the end of it (I'm afraid my patient and kind husband will snap any day..I'm keeping all sharp objects away from him) we will not be moving for a while and if we do, we will be paying good money for others to do the work. For right now however, I'm afraid my dreams of this house becoming something awesome are temporarily buried beneath piles of cardboard and packing material : (
