We may move too much...

It's been a whirlwind ever since Urban was born.  5 years now, and we have moved 3 times.  That is definitely a lot. When we found out we were pregnant with #1, Brett and I had already been trying to sell our condo and move into a house for over a year.  But with the new development, we made the decision to stay put and see what happened, and really, it was a good choice, because trying to move (both the house and my body) when I was swollen with 90 lbs of fluid would have been ludicrous.  However, it did not take long for our small place to contract even further, and we were on the hunt again.

So, at exactly 6 months old, Urban moved into his first house.  Then, when Urban was 3 1/2, and I was once again tottering with child (8 months along to be exact), we moved again.  House #3, move #2.  We moved to our rental house knowing that it was not our forever solution.  It couldn't be.  We did not plan to move as soon as we did, but all signs pointed to our needing to do so.  House #4, move #3, Urban at 4 1/2.

So, last night when we were talking and Urban said, "When we get to our next house I want to..." I paused.  I took his hands in mine - I was sitting on the floor and he was standing - and I said, "Buddy, we're going to be in this house for a really long time.  We won't be moving again until I'm old and grey, and you have kids of your own."

He looked at me blankly.  "No more houses?"

"No.  This is it."

"Oh.  OK.  You'll turn grey?"

"Oh.  No, no.  I won't turn grey my hair will.  Like Gramma's."

"Oh.  I like your hair.  I think it's pretty."

"Thanks, buddy."

And we're on to the next thing.  But this revelation moved me.  (no pun intended.)  My little guy doesn't know any different.  He doesn't know roots or stability when it comes to where he lives.  It's hard for me to think of that, but in his life, you just move.  You move a lot.  But, as has come routine in our lives...  everything changes.  And we are here to stay.

10 Hostas : 10 Portents of Doom

After a week of silence, I have a lot to share.  We moved a little over a week ago, but lots of stumbles and surprises happened along the way, only one of which included no internet or cable until two days ago.  I had no idea that moving to a house built in 1965 would be like moving to 1965!

On Friday, as I pulled into our new driveway to walk through  our newly acquired house, the sight that greeted me first was the 10, count them, 10 healthy Hostas.  Readers of this blog know how I feel about these little green wonders, so I was none too pleased.  Little did I know the little wretches were really portents of the disasters to come - 10 in all - throughout the week.

The weekend went smoothly.  On Saturday, The family and I went to the house so that I could paint.  Beringer and Brett went to the grocery store to fill our empty cupboards and Urban and I set to turning the boys' room from sunny yellow to neutral grey.  Urban used the brush while I used the roller.  He did an excellent job considering this was his first time!

The next day was moving day for the four of us, and a team of 8 family and friends plus Brett and I filled the free moving truck (Yep, you read that right, FREE truck, THANKS COUSINS JACKIE AND GARY!!!) within an hour and were off to the new house to unload and then fill ourselves on Famous Dave's BBQ before heading back for one more load.  Things went very smoothly and not a single thing was broken, which is more than I can say for our last pro move!

With the help of my friend, Cayle, I was able to assemble the boys' beds so that they had a comfortable and familiar place to sleep the first night, and, after all the excitement of the day, it's a good thing.  Brett and I were relegated to the floor as our bed would not arrive until Tuesday with Mom's things. We thought that our air mattress would serve us well.  Too bad, it had served the cats well too and was full of little slow leaks.  Every time one of us would roll over it would launch the other off the edge of the mattress or drive an elbow directly into the hardwoods prompting a flick of the switch and the monstrous whir of the mattress inflating again.  It was not a peaceful night in the least.  But we were there.

Although the sleepless night might be seen as the first Doom-Hosta, I'm not counting it.  You'll see why...

It's all in the numbers

We have 11 days until we move in, 10 days until I paint my first wall, 9 days until we gain possession and 8 days until we close.  I've packed 32 boxes and have 29 more left empty.  I have scheduled the garbage pickup for our "bulk items," posted what wouldn't sell on craigslist to the MN Free Marketplace.  The utilities are transferred, the paint is purchased and invitation sent out to friends and family to help with the move.

Now what?  Waiting is the hardest part.  Just sitting.  The plans are done, the tasks are complete (mostly) and now I have to wait.  I am forced daily to walk past all the things I want to put into boxes because Brett says we still have to "live" for the next 11 days.  Bah.  We could get by, right?  Box it up!  Pack it away!  But, no, instead I am forced to reflect.  OK, not forced, but it is what I find myself doing a lot.

The interesting thing that I'm learning, is that I can live comfortably with a decreased wardrobe.  (Decreased everything, really, there is so much extraneous crap in out lives!)  This is a revelation to me.  I currently have a teeny closet and no dresser.  I have my unmentionables in a milk crate on the floor and the rest of my "wardrobe" taking up less than half of my closet space.  And, unlike I would have thought, I am not freaking out.  I kept my favorite things, and the rest is in a box.  Is this a lesson?  I purged vast amounts of clothing a few weeks ago, but should I purge more?  Should I do a clean sweep?  I get a little giddy each time I open the closet door and see it so empty.  What does that say?

To put this in perspective, you have to understand that I am a clothes horse.  I have "collected" clothing since I can remember.  I am defined, in many ways, by my fashion choices.  They are one way people remember me.  For many years, I wondered, "Who am I without my wardrobe?"

All of this is changing.  For years now, my wardrobe has mainly come from thrift stores and garage sales.  How can you purchase new clothes when you don't have a job, are facing foreclosure and filing for bankruptcy?  OK, maybe some people can, but I can't.  My passion for fashion really lies in the hunt anyway and shopping "new" takes some of the fun out of it for me.  I had squirreled away piles of clothing so that I wouldn't have to buy more if my weight fluctuated before and after each of the boys.  I  re-imagined many a tee shirt or jean into a new dress or handbag.  And now, I open my closet door and see 5 shirts, 3 dresses, 2 skirts, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of shorts and 4 pairs of shoes, and I think, "I can live with this."  How can that be?  I am the queen of change!  I can't repeat an outfit within a 14 day window.  That's who I am!  Right?

Isn't it?  Maybe not.  Maybe this move is doing more than getting my family into a safe, happy home and neighborhood.  More than bringing Mom into our daily lives.  Maybe this move is showing me who I REALLY am.  Is that possible?  I guess we'll find out in 11 days.

But it's FREE!

I posted earlier about the dance of stuff that my family is doing right now.  I feel like I spend every moment that I'm not at work and/or the kids are sleeping traversing our piles and piles of stuff.  At least once a week I fill the car with unused items and drive them to a donation bin somewhere.  In fact, I am right now waiting for a friend to come and empty my car of baby gear.

With every trip I feel a little lighter.  I know that I am abiding by my rule, "if we're not going to use it at the new house, we're not moving it."  And the real motivation comes from the fact that we're moving ourselves.  I don't want to exert the energy to literally move stuff for nothing.  And I know, that even without all this stuff, we will still fill that house!

Then, this morning, we get an email from our sellers' agent.  They have stuff they aren't going to move, do we want it?  I should say no, right?  I mean, we have PLENTY of stuff between our house and my mom's. BUT IT'S FREE STUFF!!  I mean, it can't hurt to at least find out what it is, right?  We can always say no later...

Why is it so darn hard to say "no" to stuff?

Vying for Real Estate

You know, I have never been more thankful of my great relationship with my mother than now as we volley for spots for all of our belongings.  It seems so quaint and simple.  The first words, "Let's move in together!"  Then you stop and think.  I have stuff.  Brett has stuff.  We have stuff together.  The boys have their own stuff.  We have furniture and dishes and linens.  Mom has all that stuff too.  Plus, she has family heirlooms; 30+ years of adult, family and marriage accumulation; a husband who was a pack rat (to put it mildly) and 3000+ sq. ft. of furnishings.  Our new house is only 2300 sq. ft.  What are we going to do with all the stuff?  So, the negotiations begin, because for every one thing you agree on there is at least one thing that must be purged.  And "at least" is a very loose estimation.

Between our two families we have six couches.  SIX!  We do not need six couches.  This is agreed.  But where Brett and I steer pretty modern with our couch styles, Mom is decidedly traditional.  OK, let's table the couches and talk about our 3 dining room tables.  One can be painted with a more weather hearty finish and put on the three season porch.  We can use Mom's round dining table in the dining room by purchasing two more chairs, and our IKEA table will go on Craigslist.  There.  That's some progress.

Since we're in the dining/kitchen, let's talk about dishes.  We have 3 sets of china + another 3 sets of everyday dishes.  (Clearly this is a family illness.)  OK, Brett and I can sell one set of china and donate our other set of everyday stuff.  Most of it came from a garage sales anyway.  We keep Grandma Sauer's china from Germany and Mom's wedding dishes.  In fact, we can paint the wardrobe that currently houses Mom's TV the same color as the cabinets in the kitchen, add some shelves, and VOILA! a china cabinet!  Look at us go.

Room by room we work our way through the sea of stuff, and after each discussion, I run home and add more to the Goodwill pile.  Being faced with your accumulation is a sobering thing.  I refuse to move anything that we will not use.  I refuse to store things "just in case".  And especially since we will be moving ourselves in a rental truck.  If it's not necessary... it's going to someone else.  Craigslist is my new best friend.  In fact, if you or someone you know needs something.  I may have it.  CHEAP!  ha!

It feels good to purge the excess, and it is exciting to be surrounded by things from my childhood again – things that will now be decorated with my family's stuff and accented by my family's artwork.  It is also thrilling to know that my mom is an integral part of that family again and not just a voice on the other end of the line – that her stuff can mingle with my stuff and Brett's stuff and the boys' stuff and it will all just become our stuff.

Do you want to talk about the couches now?  Um, no.