It was New Year’s eve. A brief glance at Facebook revealed status updates full of merriment and possibility. I opted not to jot down a few words and click ‘post’ for I was feeling decidedly un-merry.
We were smack in the middle of our tenth move-every-item-we-own move in fifteen years. I had spent New Year’s Eve climbing stairs while carrying boxes, buckets, children, carpets and it had all sucked. Because moving pretty much sucks the life out of you.
The only way moving does not suck is when you pick up the phone and dial North American Van Lines (or some full-service moving company) and drive to Starbucks while three of their employees pack up your entire household (in less than four hours) and load all of it into a moving van. All in the time it takes you to have a second latte.
In that instance, moving is nearly tolerable, even though you are quite possibly bankrupt by the end of the process. And you stand a reasonable chance of opening a fancy, unblemished moving box and finding a trash can with trash still inside it. True story.
So in lieu of paying the price of a small used car, we opted for the slightly more cost-effective, grey-hair-inducing method of packing our own belongings and hiring a truck with three movers. All while trying to celebrate Christmas with the boys, visit with my mom – who perhaps rued the timing of her trip after scouring my chicken-roasting-oven for over an hour – and celebrate the anniversary we didn’t get to celebrate this summer because we were travelling.
It was[n’t] the best of times. It was[n’t] the worst of times.
But in the end, our belongings made their twenty-block journey and we all ended up with a place to sleep and a place to eat. And, as happens after childbirth, we immediately began the process of erasing the worst memories so that we could pretend (after a few days) that it ‘really wasn’t that bad’.
Which is just as well since we’ll have to repeat this feat before my next birthday.
But in the meantime, we’ll amuse ourselves with the functioning dishwasher. (Glasses without disgusting crud at the bottom! Who knew!) A dryer that dries clothes in less than an hour and a half. (Do the math: nine loads of clothes, which is a standard occurrence for the five of us – translates into 13.5 hours of drying time, alone.) And frolicking among the more than six inches of kitchen counterspace and six cupboards in which to store kitchen items.
‘I feel like we’re living in one of those vacation rental properties,’ the professor exclaimed after we’d moved in; when we were still slightly euphoric from the abundance surrounding us: shelves! closets! closets with shelves! a basement….without poop! a non-leaking shower….without mold! (What can I say – when you’ve lived in as many places as we have, you learn to make do.)
Perhaps 2012 will be the year we reclaim our sanity.