Oh you guys. So it occurred to me this morning as I was fighting my way through the basement with a machete to do some laundry that I have to move in an alarmingly small number of months.

(In case you thought I was stupid, I obviously knew I was moving. But a phone call from the current residents of our new house yesterday with like dates and things made it seem VERY MUCH IN PROCESS AND HOLY CRAP I SHOULD PROBABLY BUY SOME BOXES OR SOMETHING.)

I’ve never moved. Not really. I was super poor in college and grad school and lived with my parents. I moved in here with Buzz when we got married, but I kind of did it carload by carload and it was overshadowed by, you know, the getting married part. Also, no furniture or anything.

This is a little bit more intense and involves four-year-olds that are convinced you’re going to leave their stuff behind and babies that enjoy touching everything and trying to eat it and ooh, is that a box I could destroy.

I’m thrilled to be moving. This is the house that I’ve always always always wanted to live in. The fact that I get to do it with the love of my life and my babies is more perfect that I ever imagined. I am so, so, so blessed.

But, uh. At the same time, I have to clean my basement.



The last time my husband moved it was for work, so they paid for it. And he had people to pack, like, junk drawers of their stuff. I want that. I want someone to come and just wrap bubble wrap around the mess of baby clothes and old credit card bills I need to shred and sweaters that will never fit my body after have gestated a human and then drive it to the new house and then throw it in that basement where I will never have to deal with it again because haha family house we’re never leaving.

Can I do that?


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