For those of you who don’t know, my husband Robert and I just recently moved out of our first home and into our second. Exciting! (Right?) In case you missed my Instagram post on moving day, please let me be completely honest in telling you that, exciting as it was, it was also hard. Allow me to explain.
First of all, I actually had no idea that Robert and I had accumulated enough stuff to fill the Taj Mahal. No, really. This alone made the moving process more challenging than we anticipated. Also, I hear that “stuff” multiplies whenever kids come along, and that’s a little terrifying to me.
Second of all, the purging and packing process was a little overwhelming for me, someone who is significantly sentimental and significantly ADD. Thankfully, I know this about myself, so I started the process a solid 3 months in advance. I would do things like pack a box of books and then reward myself by trying on my newly re-discovered wedding gown. Productive, but also, not.
Before I go any further, let me tell you that we were genuinely excited about moving. The Lord had made it abundantly clear that this was the right choice for us, and we were thrilled about our new house. Be that as it may, moving day came, and I was a trainwreck.
We loaded up the last box and walked back inside. It was completely empty. Robert spoke and it echoed, and then I started sobbing incoherently. Pretty sure I said some things, asked some questions, vocalized that emotion… pretty sure Robert didn’t understand a word I was saying. He’s a smart man, though, and he didn’t try to push me past it. We just sat on the bottom of the steps and he held me while I cried.
I know it’s weird, but it felt like we were abandoning our trusty little home. I had to keep reminding myself, “the house does not have feelings” and “the memories stay with us, not the house.” We picked out everything in that little place… floors, cabinets, countertops. We’d sneak in it while it was being built in the months leading up to our wedding and walk around inside just giddy with excitement. It’s hard to just be done with that part of life forever, even when you know it’s right.
Over the next few days, our families helped us move into the new house. I was a stressball, but a happy one. That first night I mostly just paced around with a dumb look on my face while everyone else worked like little ants in a colony to unload the truck. It’s been a month since then, and slowly but surely we’re doing renovations, hanging things on walls, decorating for Christmas, making it home. Kiwi and Noodle, our two little psychopath cats, are finally at ease after their tumultuous transition. Robert has verbally and physically declared war on the leaves with his leaf blower. We’ve met some sweet neighbors, built a bonfire in our backyard, and watched a meteor shower without city lights corrupting our view. It’s been so good. All in all – we’re drained, but I’m thankful. We were blessed with three sweet years in our very first home, we’re excited to be where we are now and for what’s ahead here.
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