Home Is Where Your Stuff Is

It’s been just about two weeks since the Firefighter and I closed on our home and slowly (very slowly) but surely, it’s starting to look like less of a hot mess. Our actual moving weekend was nothing short of exhausting, with he and I doing most of the back and forth – though we did have a couple of volunteer Firefighters to help with the heavy lifting for a few hours.

Thank you, Baby Jesus, for Firefighters and their pickup trucks.

The move took all day on St. Patrick’s Day and the better part of the next day. When we first started unloading things into the house, we did a good job of actually unloading the cars and placing furniture/boxes/bags into their assigned room. By the time Saturday evening rolled around, though, we just dropped everything in the living room and collapsed onto the couches (the only pieces of furniture actually set up and in place). I already told the Firefighter that I never want to do this again.

I have no idea how my parents (admittedly, mostly my mom) moved around 8+ times with my dads job. All of that stress and on top of it all they dealt with moving at least one kid (moi) and dog and for the last three moves, they had three kids and a dog. Add in the fact that these moves had us zig-zagging across the country (if not moving us to whole other countries) and I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that my mother is a Saint.

Thankfully we are getting the house to a point where it is less hectic. ‘Stuff’ is actually in the place it is supposed to be instead of just placed wherever it was convenient at the unloading time. It’s slowly getting organized and my not-so-inner OCD freak isn’t having panic attacks anymore.

Next step: start painting and make this house full of ‘stuff’ our home.

 

 

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