There are few things in life that are more universally loathed than moving. Moving is one of those shared human experiences, regardless of nationality, creed, or political affiliation that brings us all together, in a mutual distaste for utility companies, broken furniture, and cardboard boxes. So it is with much sighing that I find myself moving, yet again. It’s interesting, if you think about it from a sociological perspective, that even though we know just dreadful moving is, that we continue to spend our weekends looking at houses.
And that’s how I found myself wearing disposable booties, tromping through crazily decorated living rooms, avoiding yapping dogs, and peering into strangers’ closets, with the hopes of finding a new home for me and my children. As an HGTV addict, I’m quite familiar with the ins and outs of real estate…so I knew a diamond in the rough when I saw it. This house was perfect for us. I didn’t even make the rookie mistake of complaining about the lousy paint colors or the wallpaper border…I knew I could fix those things. Long story short, after much paperwork drama, the house is ours. What I completely forgot about, when I mistakenly let my guard down for a second, was the fact that we still needed to move.
Packing and moving with two children is a curse I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. As I sit here, writing away, I can see the towers of almost toppling boxes full of books. I can see the first box I packed, which is also the first box I unpacked, when I realized there was something in there I still needed. While I am still completely overwhelmed, I can also flip back to the online listing that shows “SOLD.” And I know it’s all worth it.