We are officially moving.
It isn’t a decision I really wanted to make. I loved our little house, love our neighborhood, love our neighbors. I know all the dogs in the neighborhood. I know exactly how long it takes me to walk to Starbucks, with and without the stroller. I know the shadiest streets and the closest parks and the length of time it takes to bike to the waterfront.
On our moving day, I will have been in this house one week shy of six years. It’s the longest I have lived in any one house. I’d stay longer if I could.
But it’s time. I won’t go into all the details now, but my sister says it best when she says the last two months and the next month will be a great chapter in my book someday. She’s right. My husband is also right when he says I am being a bit over-emotional about our move (we’re only moving five minutes away.)
Here are the stages of moving grief/excitement I have been experiencing lately.
Stage One: Melancholy
Yes, we’re only moving five minutes away. But this won’t be my kitchen anymore.
Six years ago, I pulled these appliances and pots and pans out of carefully wrapped packages, feeling a little less homesick in a new place every time I used the mixing bowl from Sue and the measuring cups from Lisa, the Pyrex containers from Emilie and the dish set from Heidi.
Four years ago I celebrated my Master’s graduation in this kitchen with my family visiting.
Three years ago, we hosted a baptism party in this kitchen for a boy who writes me Mother’s Day cards.
Nineteen months ago I opened baby shower gifts in this kitchen, filing toddler utensils in the back of a cabinet for what I thought would be an eternity away. She uses them on a daily basis now.
This is all so sad. I think I will cry into this box.
Stage Two: Misplaced Rage
How the HECK did I get so much Tupperware?!! Why does none of it have lids?! What have I been doing with my life for the last few years that this is so unorganized?
And why won’t this @#*! packing tape dispenser work better? Does it think I have all day? If you haven’t noticed, Tape Dispenser, I have a whole house to pack. If you could, you know, DO YOUR JOB, it would be at least a little more efficient.
OH MY GOSH ASSEMBLING BOXES IS SO MUCH WORK. Can’t they just come pre-assembled?!!
Stage Three: Excitement
At least in my new house, I’ll be able to take a shower with actual water pressure. And maybe I’ll even be able to find a corner for an “office nook” all to myself. I should totally start pinning “office nook” ideas! And we’ll have a playroom.
Stage Four: Resigned
We’ve been packing for 1.5 hour and the kitchen just looks more messy.
Stage Five: Needing a Reward
We’ve been packing for 1.5 hour. I totally need a reward. Yes, my husband is laughing at me for needing a reward after a mere 1.5 hour of work. But he has also added a frappuccino to the coffee order. I’d rather need a lot of affirmation than be a hypocrite.
Stage Six: Wanting to Give All of Your Possessions Away (But Only If the People Will Pick Them Up Themselves)
Why do we have 10 coffee mugs that we don’t even use? Why do I have so many T-shirts? WE HAVE SO MUCH STUFF. I’d love to give all my excess away
so I don’t have to pack it to make someone’s life better! I wonder if I can just leave it here and put a sign out front that says, “Free Stuff, Let Yourself In?”
Stage Seven: Needing a Massage
This stage is self-explanatory.