I should be unpacking.
Moving is like childbirth. It’s horrendous, JUST the worst… But worth it for the end result, which is why some crazy folks choose to do so more than once in a lifetime.
We selectively forget the bad (e.g. having to be out of an impeccably cleaned old house by 4pm on Thursday, though only permitted to begin moving boxes into the garage of the new place starting Tuesday, while husband works, with three kids underfoot) and blindly focus on the good.
And it is good. We love our new home.
I have run a half marathon and birthed children “au naturale”, but this move has rendered me the most utterly exhausted I have ever been in my thirty-some years of existence.
It’s worth it. Our new home is a fresh canvas that we are putting our stamp on, and because we are crazy we are almost completely unpacked already.
The seemingly insurmountable task of moving a family of five (and a menagerie of pets) in two fleeting mid-week days was accomplished, bit by bit –like eating an elephant, as I constantly reminded myself- ONLY because we had help from amazing [former-]neighbors who fed and entertained our kids, wiped out crusty cabinets and scrubbed stinky showers, and loaded and unloaded wave after wave of boxes.
Goldenrod Lane rallied, as usual. We intend to regularly mail them flyers for our rural subdivision until they concede and join us in the countryside.
We are now people who plan trips “into town.”