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My mom was here this weekend to help pack, because we sold our house! Who-hoo! We sold it in July, but I couldn't say much because I didn't want to jinx it, particularly when I'm hearing on NPR that existing home sales are down 26%. Ouch.
Thank you, St. Joseph.
I'm really sorry about the Sun Maid Raisin lady
and I'm glad you aren't bitter.
Mom was here Saturday and Sunday, and Monday I felt an exhaustion so deep I couldn't keep my eyes open. CH and The Son were up all night with unmentionable bathroom problems, and Oldest Daughter was blown up with allergies. Youngest Daughter was not only in perfect health, but in the mood for snacks, drinks, Wii games that had already been packed, Littlest Pet Shop animals and playsets that had also been packed, reading books to people, and playing Trouble and Sorry with whomever had the misfortune to pass through the living room. She was like a cute little spider in a large, sticky web that covered every doorway. I would like to say for the record that I threw three games of Sorry by not knocking her off, ever, but if I wasn't tired I so would have kicked her little second grade ass.
We are moving just four short blocks away. Why? Because we hate ourselves.
This is our fifth house in the 15 years we've been married, and I have become a packing genius. It's actually great because you tend to get rid of a lot of stuff when you move, so your chances of becoming a hoarder are quite low. It's also a HUGE pain in the ass because you have to still take three children to lessons and school and they are expected to wear clothes to these places, and they are still somehow needing three meals a day, even though you have packed their stuff in anticipation of the move because you know that the week before and after the closing date you are going to be batshit crazy and your packing window is closed. Taco Bell recognizes our van, and Papa John's pizza delivery car waits outside of our house until the call comes in.
This move has been interesting because we are downsizing. The house we lived in three houses ago was huge, and it was so much work. I am not known for my housekeeping skills. I love to cook, hate to clean the pots and pans. I can upholster furniture, hate to clean the little staples and nails and scraps of fabric. I like to read, and prefer it over making beds or picking up clothing. Are we seeing a theme here? When we moved into this house, it was a downsize from the BIG HOUSE. And yet, it was still a lot to clean, and the yard is ginormous, with a bunch of flower beds installed by a master gardener, and the guilt I feel if I don't maintain the .30 acres of flower beds is as big as the yard. We found a place with all of the features we wanted, but it was slightly smaller with a much smaller yard to take care of.
What has been interesting is the response to the move. When we tell people we are moving, they immediately think we are upgrading, which is a natural assumption. This is, after all, America. When we tell them we are moving to a smaller place, there is a look of panic on their faces...is this by choice, or necessity? Are we brilliant or broke? Should they bring us food? The truth is that the new place is smaller by choice, cheaper, and has all of the updates we wanted to make to this house already done (except for the basement, which we will be doing. Expect to hear about that.) We will have less debt and less overhead and less stress, which hopefully means more wine and more books and more travel.
For now, though, it is box city around here. I drive a six pack of middle schoolers to school every morning, and the other day my van was accidentally full of broken down boxes. The sixth grade boys rode in the back with the flattened boxes balanced on their heads, and the eighth grade girls in front made fun of them. One of the girls, a sister to one of the boys, said, "Get used to it buddy, because if you don't get your grades up, you'll be living in one of those." Ouch. I feel his pain, because if I don't get this packing done, I'll be living in one of those too.
And by the way? I lost the Stennifer lunch to someone from Dallas. I have volunteered to be Second Runner Up, and I still can't wait to read Stacey's book, Good Enough To Eat, even though I will be weeping and hungry the entire time I'm reading it.
There's trouble in the bubble.
We are moving just four short blocks away. Why? Because we hate ourselves.
This is our fifth house in the 15 years we've been married, and I have become a packing genius. It's actually great because you tend to get rid of a lot of stuff when you move, so your chances of becoming a hoarder are quite low. It's also a HUGE pain in the ass because you have to still take three children to lessons and school and they are expected to wear clothes to these places, and they are still somehow needing three meals a day, even though you have packed their stuff in anticipation of the move because you know that the week before and after the closing date you are going to be batshit crazy and your packing window is closed. Taco Bell recognizes our van, and Papa John's pizza delivery car waits outside of our house until the call comes in.
This move has been interesting because we are downsizing. The house we lived in three houses ago was huge, and it was so much work. I am not known for my housekeeping skills. I love to cook, hate to clean the pots and pans. I can upholster furniture, hate to clean the little staples and nails and scraps of fabric. I like to read, and prefer it over making beds or picking up clothing. Are we seeing a theme here? When we moved into this house, it was a downsize from the BIG HOUSE. And yet, it was still a lot to clean, and the yard is ginormous, with a bunch of flower beds installed by a master gardener, and the guilt I feel if I don't maintain the .30 acres of flower beds is as big as the yard. We found a place with all of the features we wanted, but it was slightly smaller with a much smaller yard to take care of.
What has been interesting is the response to the move. When we tell people we are moving, they immediately think we are upgrading, which is a natural assumption. This is, after all, America. When we tell them we are moving to a smaller place, there is a look of panic on their faces...is this by choice, or necessity? Are we brilliant or broke? Should they bring us food? The truth is that the new place is smaller by choice, cheaper, and has all of the updates we wanted to make to this house already done (except for the basement, which we will be doing. Expect to hear about that.) We will have less debt and less overhead and less stress, which hopefully means more wine and more books and more travel.
For now, though, it is box city around here. I drive a six pack of middle schoolers to school every morning, and the other day my van was accidentally full of broken down boxes. The sixth grade boys rode in the back with the flattened boxes balanced on their heads, and the eighth grade girls in front made fun of them. One of the girls, a sister to one of the boys, said, "Get used to it buddy, because if you don't get your grades up, you'll be living in one of those." Ouch. I feel his pain, because if I don't get this packing done, I'll be living in one of those too.
And by the way? I lost the Stennifer lunch to someone from Dallas. I have volunteered to be Second Runner Up, and I still can't wait to read Stacey's book, Good Enough To Eat, even though I will be weeping and hungry the entire time I'm reading it.
3 comments:
Congrats on the big sale! *Knock on wood* we close on our home in less than a month. Such a big transition!
We also downsized on house and upsized on yard. What happens when you live in a household of boys. I remember the first time I read your blog was the post about St Joe - and it has been love ever since!
Mrs Woog
xo
I'm married to a pack rat & the mother of a pack rat. I can't even IMAGINE packing up all our shit & moving. I dream about renting a dumpster & filling over & over again. Congrats!!! I'm so jealous about your fresh start.
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