I can’t believe how quickly the past month has gone. It only feels like yesterday that the kids and I were counting down ’17 days till we move!!’ and now here I am, almost 30 days later typing this at my new office in our ‘new, but not new’ house.
I think I mentioned in a recent post that I’m a seasoned mover, but I’m done. This move has by far been the most challenging, tiring and downright ugly move that I’ve ever experienced. Not that I can put it down to anything in particular, it just was. But let’s not start on a downer right? Let’s start with the good.
We are in! The move is over. The cleaning up of the old house is done, and we can now focus on our humble new abode. Sorry, that’s all I got.
Where do I start?
Firstly, I was under some misguided assumption that packing is easy. Just chuck things you want into a box, and things you don’t want in the ‘tip’ pile or the ‘good will’ pile. Easy. After all, I have regular spring cleans, even when it’s not spring, so we shouldn’t have a lot of stuff right? Wrong. I was really overwhelmed with how much stuff we have. Especially the kids. I honestly felt like chucking ALL OF IT! But in the end, I stuffed it into boxes and cried as I taped them up. I really need to get seriously into this minimalist movement that is calling me. Seriously.
Secondly, moving day brought with it rain. And not just a little autumn shower, no, bucket loads of rain that had been building up all summer long ready to unleash on our moving day. If it had have helped, I would have cried. Inside I was crying. As I made my trips back and forth with the stuff that wouldn’t pack well, I cried. It didn’t help, but it was all I could do. The rain slowed down the removalists too. What should have taken about 8 hours, (we only moved less than 2 kms away), took almost 12 hours.
Lastly, unpacking. See point one. Unpacking, is as un-enjoyable as packing, actually, probably less so. Right now I’m three quarters of the way through unpacking with boxes still lining the lounge room walls. Oh and don’t look in my storage cupboards. I don’t want to, that’s for sure!
I’ve said it before, (and obviously been wrong), but I really do think this will be our last move. Although, moving is a bit like childbirth. Right after the fact you’ll swear you’ll never put yourself through it ever again, but soon the pain fades and before you know it….! But, no really this place feels like home. Even with the unpacked boxes, the half finished renovation, and the overgrown, neglected house yard and adjoining paddock – it just feels like I’m meant to be here.
Each morning I wake up and get to eat breakfast overlooking space. During the day, from my office I watch the bird-life populate our mini-dam. They sun themselves and preen their feathers, as the breeze rustles the gum leaves above. Yet, I can also head out the driveway and be in the centre of town in three minutes. We can even still walk to school.
True, we have so much still to do, but this place is really wonderful. And somehow, I feel my thoughts are clearer here. Over the past month I’ve realised how important family is, and where my role lies. It almost feels like I’ve been at a crossroads for the last few years, happy with sitting and being content, but feeling like one direction will be more fulfilling than the other. And I feel like this move, this turn at the crossroads, has opened up a clearing in the distance and I can see for miles. But more on that later…
So while the last month has taken it’s toll on me physically and mentally, I’m in a good place. The wonderful outweighs everything else, let’s hope it continues.