We got rid of so much stuff this time. Houses worth of stuff. More stuff than I thought we owned. And yet! We still have so much of it left! All in boxes! Including, apparently, my iPad charger, so clearly the situation is dire.
The actual relocation process was a comedy of errors: the moving truck that broke down, the elevator that of course stopped working right when loading the heavy stuff, the cat who freaked out in the carrier and peed all over everything. (Bright side: I finally got the new stroller I wanted! Well, used. On craigslist. But it’s super swank and doesn’t smell at all like cat pee.)
Yesterday I finally got out to the old place and did all the last-pass cleaning. I hate scrubbing down an empty house I used to love. It makes me feel so sad. I really thought that was going to be the place we stayed all through Ellison’s elementary school years – he’d be riding his bike around the neighborhood while Rory learned to walk and scooted after him on her tricycle. Now I’m having to shift gears back to being a city mom, all playdates and parks. I loved being a city mom when Ellison was little, and I’m sure I’ll love it again. It’s just different. Different, and not what I expected.
But now we’re officially moved. Done. And I can sit in our living room and watch the city lights at night through our floor to ceiling windows, and it seems like maybe this isn’t so bad.
Now if I could just find the box where I packed the baby…