The move is coming, the move is coming – I think I feel the same level of anxiety as Paul Revere. Except he had an army awaiting his cry (or at least a militia!) and we… do not.
I should probably start by telling you that I HATE change. You know how some people thrive on it? They love living on the edge and getting that adrenaline rush. These are the same people who procrastinate because they “work better under pressure.” This is NOT me. Not to say I don’t procrastinate – but when I do it’s out of pure laziness, not some idea that I work better under pressure. So even in the best of circumstances, a move is not a happy ideal for me. As much as I complained about our condo (they’re turning off the water AGAIN tomorrow!) and claimed we were living in an overpriced tenement, I will miss it. I would miss it even if we were moving to the greatest house in the greatest location, etc., etc. But we’re not… Due to some title issues, settlement on our house is delayed (no update yet on when it will actually occur), so we are moving in with my in-laws.
Let that one sink in for a moment. Should I say it again? I’d really prefer not to. Now before I say anything else, I should say that they are really nice people (hell, they’re letting us live with them for an indeterminate amount of time on very short notice). I like them and generally find them easy to get along with. But, like most people, I probably find them easier to get along when I don’t live with them… (I realize that could be read either as most people find their in-laws easier to get along with when not living with them or as I find most people easier to get along with when not living with them. Which did I mean? Yes. Both are absolutely true for me!)
So there’s that issue and then there’s the other thing. The – you’re how old and moving in with your family? You’re pathetic! My husband has pointed out that moving in with his parents (bringing his wife and child) makes him feel like a complete loser. I’ve said – you think that’s bad? I’m moving in with my in-laws!
But I’m sure there will be many (many!) more entries on how THAT goes. So let’s go back to the topic at hand – moving. I hate moving. Really. I hate it. I bought my condo in 2005 at the height of the market, knowing it was a risky time but thinking – but if I buy now, I won’t have to move again for a long time. Seriously. That was the thought that went through my head – I know I need to move out of my apartment because they don’t allow dogs and my (then) boyfriend (now husband) has a dog. If I move into another apartment, I’ll just have to move again soon. Why don’t I buy a place we both like so I don’t have to? Ok, there was more to it than that, but that did factor in!
I hate moving and I am super anal retentive about being organized and getting everything done early to make the move as easy as possible. And my husband… is not. Let me walk you through each of our last major moves. Mine was the move to the condo. I settled on the condo on a Friday morning and immediately drove back to the place from the settlement office to start cleaning it. I’d driven around all day with my trunk full of cleaning supplies and the first load of things I wanted to deliver – dishes and glasses. They went in the dishwasher to get cleaned from the move and I went to work scrubbing. I made 2 more runs that afternoon trying to get as many of my breakables and as much other stuff as I could (the stuff that isn’t heavy, but takes up so much room) over and into closets so it wouldn’t get in the way / take up room for the actual move. By about 10, my husband (then boyfriend) suggested I was downright crazy as I had a bunch of people on their way over the next morning to help me and I didn’t need to totally wear myself out this way now. The next day half a dozen friends arrived and we loaded 2 pickups, a jeep and my corolla with my stuff to get everything done in 2 rounds. By about 3, everyone was sprawled in my (furnished!) living room eating pizza and drinking beer.
My husband’s last big move was about 2 months later. He moved out of the house he was renting / sharing to a room in his friend’s townhouse. The weekend of the move, I figured it was my turn to pay him back for his help and he could have me all weekend. But it was his friend’s bachelor party and after doing a little packing on Saturday morning, he actually had other stuff going on. We both went out (separately) on Saturday night with our friends. I got to his house by about 8 on Sunday morning and he was hard at work, but Sunday might have been one of the longest days in my memory. In that one day, we cleaned out all his stuff and got rid of about a truckload of junk, we moved his bedroom and couches to his friend’s place (the living room was before that empty, so they were donated to the cause) and I don’t know how much stuff we moved to his parent’s basement (they’ll attest that it was a lot – it’s still there). I honestly can’t remember how many trips back and forth we made to move everything out (as he didn’t want to ask any friends to help), throw out the rest and then clean the place. What I do remember was that it was July and the AC didn’t work and that I eventually gave up around 10 pm to go home and crash, but he was still going.
I’ve already tried to lay down the law that we’re going to do the move my way and not follow his style. I really have. I’ve even started some serious packing – I’ve got bags of my clothes to donate and several boxes ready to store and have packed up the china closet. But that barely makes a dent in 1200 square feet of space and truth be told, I’m worried…
So our survivor style reality TV program (without the TV) starts this weekend – wife pitted against husband for dominance in the move game. Who will win? Stay tuned…