Oh, my word, Internet. I don't even know where to begin. In a word: Moving. There you go. Never again. They will have to carry my lifeless body from this house before I move again UNLESS we're downsizing to an apartment in Denver after Sadie heads off to college and we're leaving with the things we can fit in the trunk of our car. Otherwise, big fat nothankyou.
I held off packing until the very last minute because why do something beneficial/helpful when you can waste time starting pointless/useless home decor projects while watching TV? The choice is clear. I was also concerned that the whole thing would fall through as per usual. Someone makes plans only to back out at the last minute. I just assumed that this would be the same way. Perhaps legally binding contracts and large sums of earnest money helps, but I don't know. I'm not a wizard. I'm also not a chef.
We closed on the house and quickly invaded with all our second-hand treasures. My parents came through like champions in helping. They showed up early on Saturday (with a housewarming gift! Two bags of Starbucks coffee!) with a truck and trailer and worked tirelessly without complaint. The kids worked with servant hearts the whole time, doing whatever was asked without complaint. Chris worked well beyond my capacity, continuing until we finally went to bed at 11. He is hands down the best man I know every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Someone got a raw deal. Hint: it wasn't me.
In an effort to leave a greater carbon footprint, I ended up having to shower at least 3 times each moving day with the sheer amount of funk I was emitting. So, so rank. At the end of one day, I packed our pantry items in a paper bag and wondered why I smelled like rotten tuna fish. Turns out it was the bag although I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been me. There were many, many occasions in which I smelled of homeless wet dog.
So our house is still a disaster and we're dodging boxes and attic items left and right but I love it. I keep shifting around the vase, three pictures, and two lamps that I own, hoping it will look like we've lived here since 1932. How will I welcome someone into our home if I can't find the perfect spot for the turquoise dragonfly plate I got from Hobby Lobby for $2.40? I simply can't. You must behold 80% off perfection in the right light.
Come over any time. Sit on my front porch swing. Eat some crackers out of the pantry. Please see this house into which I moved all my crap from a perfectly good but smaller house across the neighborhood. That's how we roll.