Moving sucks. You heard me! I haven't moved in over 20 years and thought the preamble of removing all the stuff from the downstairs before the renovation equaled "moving"... boy, was I ever wrong.
And then, of course, there are the puppies; cute little balls of fur, total distractions, I would be packing up dishware and suddenly I have to pick them up, or quiet them down, or send the big dogs out for a pee break, or feed them, or clean up the mess... and so on. Photographs to post on the internet, trying to manhandle boxes and trunks past them without disrupting their "cage", trying to not wake them up late at night so the neighbours weren't disturbed... and fielding calls and emails, reposting ads, making sure the people who take them home are the kind of people I want them to be with.
I thought I was being so prepared and so clever by renting a storage locker to hold my stuff in before the big day, and happily packed and sorted my things, starting with all the Christmas decorations and crafting supplies, taking them down the block to the storage facility and stacking them neatly. I could even stack those big rough totes, one on top of the other, all the way to the ceiling! That fantasy didn't last long. Two hours to load the car - up and down the stairs, packing the vehicle, making sure I was down before 10 pm to unload... and it only took 10 minutes to unload each trip. There was ample space - or so I thought. I even removed and stored the back seat from the mini van so I could take more in each load. But I forgot to factor in the fact that I'm not 30 anymore.. not even 40 anymore... and that I still have to work 5 days a week, so even if the car is loaded up I may not get to the facility until after shift!
Filling boxes too full meant they were too heavy for me to carry, and lack of sleep gave me a bad case of "mush for brains", I lost the tape gun somewhere and kept forgetting what I was doing and getting distracted by a larger mess or a bigger list, so I was reduced to using clear plastic bags for all my clothes and linens and tossing them into the back of the locker on top of whatever would hold them, making a final mad dash down the block on the Friday night with my neighbour following closely behind, both vehicles filled as full as we could with small items of furniture, and stacking them like Tetris pieces into what can only be described as a disorganized mish mash of home items. Organization out the window, time to panic! On the final day I was running on four hours sleep and hadn't even made a DENT in the upstairs living spaces, but the storage locker is STILL filled to the ceiling in places as I write the a week later with boxes, bags, containers, chairs, baskets, shelves and even my Ikea coffee table.
Thanks to the help of my young tenants and their friends and family - for which I am truly and endlessly grateful - all the "stuff" was removed from the entire house and switched, with help from my oldest son and one of his friends on top of it! Thank you, Steve; and thank you, Kai; I forgot how much work this is. My son, his buddy and I enjoyed a lovely dinner of "take away Chinese food" together while the electronics were hooked up so I could watch my TV, surf the internet, or plug in a movie.
So here I am, in my new living space, up to my neck in unpacked "stuff"; sorting, removing, putting away what I will keep, boxing what I don't need, can't use and don't have room for. Some for charity, some for family, some for the trash. I'm in my first REAL apartment, on my own for the very first time, with my own things around me, and in a place with just enough room for me, the stuff I really need, and my little animals. I have finally moved away from "home". No longer living in my father's house, no longer living in my husband's house, now I start fresh. I still have to clean the carpets, wash the floors, organize my closet, decide where to put the cleaning supplies, the bathroom things and the toilet paper, but I have my lovely water bed, I have my computer (the true necessity of modern life), I have a little peace and a nice place to park my car in my own driveway. I'm still at the same address and I still have the same phone number, but I am proud to say I am living in a space that I actually created with my own hands, my own ideas and my own time. I love it. And I love knowing that I can do what needs to be done to get by.
Now... just have to wait for my hands to stop hurting and the bruises to fade. Should take another week or so.... Did I say moving sucks?