Friday, June 30, 2006

We survived!

The move is behind us and we're grateful to have lived to tell about it. The experiences we've had since last Friday have been incredibly exhausting. Moving any time of the year is bad enough, but a summer relocation is the worst, in my opinion. It is a true miracle that no one suffered a heat stroke.

The night before the movers came, hubby and I relaxed for a moment on the couch and praised ourselves for what a great job we'd done preparing for this move. We were so much more prepared for this move than the previous one, we both agreed. After all, we'd been packing for three months and with the help of a U-Haul trailer had already moved every single box over to the new house by Friday afternoon. My, we were on top of things. Or so we thought.

The Day of Reckoning came early the next morning, and very quickly all our self praise turned to condemnation. How in the world could we have been so stupid as to believe we were really on top of things? When all the furniture had been loaded on the truck, we were faced with the reality that there was still a LOT left to be boxed. What had seemed like so little the night before suddenly seemed huge and overwhelming. While I should have been settling into the new house that evening, I was frantically packing up the remains in the old house and shuttling load after load over on the U-Haul. In the end, I'll bet we made at least 30 trips with that silly trailer ferrying all of our junk across town. The massive job was finally completed at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, a full three days and five nervous breakdowns after moving day.

As a result of this dreadful experience, hubby and I have a new motto: Less is more! We are posting our new mantra on bathroom mirrors, shower walls, fridge doors, steering wheels, commode lids and any other prominent place we can think of. We repeat it to each other as we help each other over boxes stacked shoulder high in our hallways and garage. I have sworn my dear mother-in-law (who took up a LOT of slack in the aftermath of my packing failures) to two promises:

1. That if we ever so much as HINT at moving again, she will make an appointment immediately with a psychiatrist to have our heads examined, for we surely will have taken leave of our senses.

2. That EVERY single time she sees me or talks to me on the phone from now on that she will ask the question, "What have you gotten rid of this week?" The reality that we have WAY too much stuff for five people has been waved prominently in my face all week, and if I know I'm accountable to someone for weeding through this mess and taking some serious steps to eliminate the clutter that has plagued us for years, I am much more likely to do something about it.

That's all I can write for now, but there is more yet to share. Stay tuned.

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