Moving

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.

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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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