My elderly neighbor in her nineties asked me if I needed any help moving.
“After all,” she said, “I’ve moved 27 times.”
I, on the other hand, have only ever moved twice. And I’m not even sure if the first time counts, since all I owned was a single bed, a trunk, and a dresser.
The second time wasn’t much of a move either. My hubby owned a moving truck and we only moved a few blocks away- we barely had to pack.
This move is a FIRST in lots of ways.
First time moving out of the Okanagan.
First time moving to a house we OWN.
First time renting a moving truck.
First time moving with more than one child (we’ve moved with Jonas as a baby).
And First time moving Pregnant. Six months pregnant.
With just under a month to go, I had my first moving nightmare last night.
Change stresses me. Pretty sure boxes stress me. And weirdly mixing contents in a half filled box stresses me. Like I wish my “Music” box didn’t have a ball pump and extension cord in it- cause that has nothing to do with music. Mix matched boxes is made worse by trying to not pack things were going to use in the next month.
The kids wanted to help me pack in the kitchen this morning. But they each wanted their own box and and soon it was a competition as to whose box Mom had put the most stuff in. Thankfully though, in one of the kitchen bowls I was packing, a bag of balloons fell out and they immediately lost all interest in packing.
I’m really excited for our new adventure. And trying really hard to just relax, take big breaths and not worry about the approaching moving day.
Spring is in the air, and all it takes is a step outside to clear the head.
I only wish I could do more of my packing in the sunshine:)