Last year, in January, I wrote this:  

"So, in 2011, with trepidation, I am going back to making resolutions. It's just one, but it's sweeping. It is not poetic: I resolve to get organized. But what does that mean? It means purging all the rooms of my house, definitely. I have already used my label maker more this month than in all of last year combined. But I am not good at compartmentalizing, and it's hard for me to treat this change as if it applies only to stuff. I am reading the book, Organized Simplicity, that defines living simply as "living holistically with your life's purpose." For me, that means setting systems in place to: a) make my home a haven for my family and others around us, and b) make our life count. If you roll your eyes, I won't judge you. These are principles that would have made me nauseated even just a year ago. It has taken me a long time to get to where I am; to where I want to embrace the life and gifts I've been given with my whole self and without fear. It means a lot of change that will take time and tears. It involves painful decisions I'm not yet ready to share. It means letting go of one dream in favor of another and choosing not to let a past failure dictate our family's future."  

I'm fairly certain that, at the time, I did not know what I meant. I definitely didn't understand the implications.  It has all been harder than I thought it'd be, but it's also been more beautiful.  It has resulted in changes I couldn't have seen coming.  Daniel has accused me lately of not being able see our progress for all the unknowns we currently have.  He says they're blinding me.  He's right (and he needs to subscribe to this blog so he can see me say that, in front of God and all of you because my husband, bless him, doesn't hear that much). 

I say I believe in celebrating each other.  And life.  Not just big things in life, either.  We make a big deal of birthdays, holidays (even the made up ones), and sometimes just regular days.  Life is mundane; it can be draining.  We all need little things to look forward to, to break us out of the monotony, to remind us that we count and that just being here is miraculous. At our house, that looks like a bottle of champagne on a random weeknight, special tablecloths for just about any occasion, and the feeling that a spontaneous dance party is always lurking around any corner. Even if there are dishes in the sink. So in that spirit, I want to have it on record that I have taken a moment to recognize the changes that have come in this last year, and that I really am thankful for them.  

1. We got out of our house. This one, as I've mentioned here many times, was terribly bittersweet for us.  Mirabella still breaks down occasionally over missing that house.  But it was absolutely necessary for us to move forward in many ways.  We took a risk.  We couldn't see a way out.  We cried.  We prayed.  We enlisted the help of the best Realtor we know.  And God provided a way out and a place to land, and it's all been something we couldn't have predicted.   

2. We simplified our stuff. In part because I just. couldn't. takeitanymore, and in part because of the move, we finally faced our stuff.  We took the time to consider what we want to hold on to and how we want to spend our limited time and space.  Unfortunately, as it turns out, this is not a one time event.  We are constantly evaluating what to keep, trash, and give away-- and the larger issue of what to consume in the first place.  But we have made major progress, and our backlog of stuff (was a basement, is now an attic) is considerably pared down.  The mere thought of it is no longer overwhelming.  And for us, that's something.  

3. We have paid down a massive amount of debt. When we started out, we didn't have the foresight to set our life up the way we might have wanted it in the future.  It was our biggest mistake.  We spent years angry at each other and ourselves about it.  We don't do that anymore.  We just didn't know any better.  So now, we are, quite literally, paying for past mistakes.  We paid off about $25,000 in debt in the last year alone, and are continually on our way to freedom from debt.  We are not done.  But we are working toward a near-term, tangible goal that, for a long time, has felt impossible.  Daniel reminds me, at our State of the Union meetings (that feature wine and frequently make me want to crawl under the table and hide from his spreadsheets), that this is all a very good thing.  

4. We live a healthier and more organized life than we did a year ago. I am sometimes overwhelmed by all the changes left to make. To say there is no chaos would be silly. But the bottom line is, it's better now than it was.  

5. I realized my goal of being a (very small) Small Business Owner. This one is so new it's actually still news.  For a long time I have considered what I really want to do.  What would it be?  How would I accomplish it while also being the mother I want to be?  I've thought through many iterations of what that might look like, and last year, I settled on the idea of starting my own creative services business.  It would start small and slowly, with just me writing and editing, but would eventually expand to include others and their respective talents (namely, graphic and web design).  Last week, I marched out of the Small Business Administration with my very own newborn business.  I had already started working with my first client two months prior.  Yesterday we got our first piece of mail.  I've decided not to do what I usually do, which is act bigger than whatever moment I'm in, and just fess up-- I think this is really exciting and I don't care who knows.  

I am under no illusion that we have "arrived" anywhere.  We are still in constant movement, strangely, even when we're stalled.  But it would be pretty obnoxious of me not to notice all the good that's already been heaped on us just because we've got farther to go. 

The important thing is this: to be ready at any moment to sacrifice what you are for what you could become.
--Charles Du Bos

Lately I’ve been itchy in my skin.  I have felt unwanted, unlovable, unattractive…lots of things that start with that prefix.  I went outside—to work, my husband, my mostly nonexistent hobbies—to fix what was an inside job.  And once I realized that, I blushed, ashamed.  I think this was, for me, the effect of turning thirty.

Since sometime in high school, I have been relatively confident.  Not overly so, at least not usually, though I know some would disagree. To me, though, it was automatic.  I was unselfconscious in the most literal interpretation of the word: I didn’t really think about my person, I just operated.  I thought this was normal and had little patience for those whose self esteem did not enable this attitude.  I was irritating.

So now, mostly on the other side of my recent identity crisis, here’s what I’ve learned: It was much easier to be confident then.  A person, like the old me, who asks whether these shorts come in a size zero, is less likely to have body image issues than one with two small children, a full-time job, and four different sizes of jeans in her dresser, none of which really fit.  Back then, I couldn’t have imagined using my current Skin Care Arsenal; I went to bed with my makeup on, far too late at night.  I wouldn’t believe I would have occasion to hear a Victoria’s Secret (probably well meaning) salesperson say, “umm, have you lost a lot of weight recently?” while measuring me.  Attention from random men was annoying and commonplace then.  Now, on the rare instance that this sort of thing happens and it’s not because I have driven off with a sippy cup on my roof or something, it cracks me up. I would be suspicious of it if it weren’t so funny to me.

Getting older is harder than I thought it would be.  But when I mentioned this to a single friend a couple years ahead of me, she said, “But why? You have a great job and a beautiful family.”  It occurred to me that, for her, turning thirty was a whole other thing. To her, it was a stick to measure her personal life against, and she wasn’t where she had thought she would be. At thirty I am married to a man I love far more than I did on our wedding day five years ago who walks alongside me as we raise our two healthy, bright, and hilarious daughters.  I have the type of job that is called a career.  I am beyond grateful for all these things and aware that there are also many other things I thought I’d be by now but am not.  I guess, now that I realize what my confidence was back then—blissfully effortless—I wish it were that again. It isn’t.  I don’t know that it ever will be.

Confidence to me, now, is both quieter and louder, bolder and more humble. It is learning to mother my kids without second guessing everything, without feeling like I have to explain my choices.  It is owning my decisions.  It is working in a male dominated workplace without being passive or shy.  It is not comparing what I have, what I look like, where I am. It is treating others with kindness; investing in them wherever I find myself regardless of who they are and what it looks like. It is cutting my hair however I want, wearing what makes me comfortable, even if it’s so last year, and taking care of myself for myself, not only for the benefit of my husband and kids.  It is choosing who gets my limited time and efforts without being bullied into commitments and relationships that are only draining.  It is embracing my relationship with God and its implications in my life and community without being a slave to what someone else has told me it should look like.  It is learning what it really means to love, without condition or reservation, without a backup plan.

Sure, it is lines and marks on my face that weren’t there ten or even five years ago, inches unintentionally lost or gained, fewer shopping trips or followed trends, and, sadly, many fewer new pairs of shoes.  But it is also real, untidy relationships and the power to express and take responsibility for my thoughts and needs.  It is the maturity to realize that compassion is not for the weak.  It is learning to let go of the need to have it all figured or settled, becoming comfortable with the silences. And I am thankful for another year of being a work in process.

I dreaded the fourth of July.  Daniel decided it would be fun for us to camp out in the old house, to see the fireworks one last time from the two-story deck he built himself.  In theory, I thought it was a great idea.  Romantic.  But as it got closer, I wasn’t so sure.  From a strictly logistical perspective, the place was filthy.  There was no furniture, no fridge, no shower curtains; it would be a nightmare.  But those were really just a ruse for the real reason I didn’t want to do it: I wasn’t sure I could handle going back.  The day of the move was so task-oriented and busy that I didn’t have time to look around at how sad my first home looked.  But I knew if we went back for “family time” in the old house, it might be too much.

So Monday as we continued to work to set up the new house, we waffled over what to do.  I had convinced Daniel that a sleepover wasn’t wise, that wasn’t a hard sell.  But I could tell his heart was still set on going.  I wondered if I would regret it if we didn’t.  So we ventured over, with a vacuum cleaner, Pack and Play, toddler sleeping bag, Styrofoam cooler, and our ever present iPod and docking station.  We ate takeout on the patio.  At every turn I welled up.  Images of our life together washed over me.  I rinsed a sippy cup in the kitchen sink and remembered bathing both my newborns in it.  (And also, man is it a beautiful and deep sink.)  I looked down the galley kitchen I had long despised and longed for that kind of counter space. I saw the cabinetry, tile work, woodwork, paint, plumbing, and design Daniel had poured his heart and talented hands into over five years.  It was becoming sadistic.

When it started raining, the girls ran circles around my old bedroom while I sat on the floor. I thought of the first night Daniel and I had spent in that room, in sleeping bags on the floor.  I changed into my wedding dress in that room. Over our ensuing marriage we held each other there through joy and loss, through lost jobs and sick loved ones, a miscarriage and the fears it brought, through dark days and through the unspeakable exhaustion and joy of bringing our babies home.  I put Emerie to sleep in her room and couldn’t finish singing her the song I always sing.  It was time to go outside.We sat on the deck on the furniture I bought last Father’s Day.  We used to call it our favorite room of the house. 

 Mirabella squealed in delight over staying up late and having a perfect view of the fireworks (and the hammock and her parents to herself).  She went to bed in our old room and we laid on the hammock while I cried.  We talked about how this was the longest we’d lived anywhere since we were kids, how it was the first place we’d been allowed to paint the walls, how I wasn’t sure we’d know how to be a family since that was the only place we’d ever been one.  “We’ll be a family wherever we go,” he said.  I used to know this.  Used to pride myself on not being attached to things like houses.  But then we made a home.

“I don’t think I want to come back,” I told him.  “My heart can’t take it.” 

Finally, Daniel said, “It’s time to go.”

Echoing the Alice in Wonderland theme of our Fourth of July in the new neighborhood, I said, “The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of other things.  Of ships and shoes and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you just did that.  That was really weird,” he said.

When I woke her, Mirabella said, “We have to go to the new house, Mommy?  Because this is not our home anymore, right?  This is not our home.”  I winced and told her she was right.  In the car she said, “I love both our homes, Mommy.  I love two homes.”

I know that this one will always have a big piece of my heart, but the time has come to talk of other things.

I promise, soon I will venture off of the topic of moving.  Soon.  Not today. Our diagonal, cross-town move, from SE to NW Baltimore went as well as it could have.  With no professional (read: paid) movers.  And so, out of the rubble of broken down cardboard, I give you my lessons learned:

1. Procure boxes early, and get more than you think you’ll need.  Craigslist and Freecycle are wonderful things.  I started searching for boxes a month before the move so we wouldn’t have to pay for boxes out of desperation.  You have to respond quickly, because others are similarly scrambling for boxes or eager to have them out of their new homes, but you should never have to pay for moving materials.

2. Know when and how to ask for help.  We learned the hard way who to ask, how to ask, and when to let it be.  General rule: if you are beyond helping others move, they are probably not going to jump at the chance to help you. Just saying.

3. Be nice to guys with big trucks. Because you just never know.

4. Pack early, pack often. Though we didn’t move until the last weekend in June, we started packing in April.  We moved a storage unit full of stuff (excess toys, out-of-season clothes, Christmas decorations) out of the house in April and continued to pare down each month.  We were fortunate to be able to move boxes over gradually in the week before our “official” move.  This is ideal.  We moved carloads at a time, making the big truck load less big.

5. Pack with unpacking in mind.  My packing pet peeve: unrelated items packed in the same box.  On one of our first days of packing, Daniel handed me a sealed box labeled “KITCHEN/ENTERTAINMENT CENTER/MISC.”  This is not a good sign.  I say I often do things for “Future Christina.”  I imagine how I might feel coming down to the kitchen in the morning and seeing dirty dishes or toys on the floor or lunches unpacked and it gives me the motivation to complete tasks I’d rather not.  (My sister-in-law says, “You’re always doing things for that chick.”)  But I do think it’s helpful to be thoughtful in packing, not to just throw everything in a box, but to consider where it will go and whether the way in which it is packed will be stressful later.  Because the move doesn’t end when the last box is in the new place.  Having said this, also,
6. Embrace—or at least learn to live with—your differences.  Contrary to #5, Daniel’s packing pet peeve is boxes that are less than efficiently packed.  If it doesn’t look like a Jenga tower, he is irritated.  It matters not where the items came from, as long as they fit like a puzzle.  This is how you get lots of “MISC” boxes and a disgruntled wife (who also happened to be chief unpacker).  I let this bother me for a long time.  However, when unpacking the (30 or so?) kitchen boxes, I learned to appreciate that he had packed pots and pans with throw pillows.  Because a 4-foot-tall box is much easier to unpack when it’s unexpectedly half-full of pillows, which leads me to,

7. Celebrate the small victories.  I actually consider this to be a strategy for a happy life, but it works with moving too.  Packing or unpacking, we considered each box a victory.

8. Clean the new place first.  Admittedly, this isn’t always possible (as in our case).  But man, I sure wish it had been.  It’s still not as clean as I’d like it, and we’ve been there 10 days.

9. Have really fantastic friends. Okay, it’s not like you can really accomplish this on a whim.  But we were so blessed to have friends bring us meals and one even drove his truck all the way from Connecticut (on his birthday weekend) to help us move.  We also had a wonderful new set of friends help us with the kids, which reminds me,

10. Arrange for someone to watch your kids-- away from both houses. Our new friends brought us dinner the night before our move (complete with disposable silverware tied with gingham ribbon) and watched the kids at their house the day of the move.  The girls even spent that first night away, which was unplanned and hard for me at first.  I really wanted to show them their new room, but it just wasn’t a reality until the next morning when we brought them home.  We should have planned this from the start.  They had fun playing with friends, and we didn’t have to worry about their safety while we sorted things out.

11. Find a place for your pets to go. We didn’t do this and should have.  After we loaded the last of it to take the new house, we didn’t want to take the dog because we knew the doors would be propped open.  We came back to get him a few hours later.  The problem: He didn’t know we were coming back, and he was left in a completely empty house, scared to death.  He was literally sick with worry, and it was messy.  We should have sent him away with a friend or even boarded him for the day to keep his nerves (and our carpet) intact.

12.  Be prepared. Buy lots of trash bags, packing tape, paper towels, toilet paper, bottled water disposable cups, plates and cutlery (even if you’re not typically paper product or bottled water purchasers), ice, and have coolers on hand for refrigerated item transport (and drinks).  Have directions between houses on hand for moving helpers and family, and don’t pack your phone chargers, iPod and docking station (or battery powered stereo of some sort) or cleaning products.

13. Have a plan of attack for room setup. I knew I wanted the girls’ room set up first so they would have a place to play and feel at home, the playroom, the kitchen, and our room behind that. It can’t all get done at once.  But whenever I feel overwhelmed, I walk into the playroom closet and look at the neat shelves with labels and all is right for a moment. 13b.  You really should invest in a label maker.

14. Cut yourself some slack.  The week before (and really, after) the move, for us, have not really resembled real life.  Lots of frozen meals and eating on the run.  This too shall pass, and thank goodness for Trader Joe’s and macaroni and cheese.

15. Don’t let it go to your head. Change in Living Conditions ranks 25 points on the Holmes and Rahe Stress 100-point Scale (14 points behind “Gaining a Family Member.”  I don’t see how that could be correct).  We found it to be terrifically stressful, and it wore on our marriage.  We fought over when to pack, how to pack, whether to hire movers, in what order to move, whether to and which farewell activities to participate in—the list goes on.  We would have done well to give each other a little space to sort through our mixed feelings and let the little stuff go.  In the end, it was all little stuff.

This morning Daniel accused me of getting "gussied up" for the produce guys at Safeway.  Turns out, they have fantastic boxes.  I told Robert, the very helpful fruit guy, as much.  "Fantastic, huh?  Really?" he was skeptical.

But they are large, can hold heavy things, come with their own biodegradable, protective packaging and they smell like apples.  Did I mention they're free?  I made two trips just this morning.  They will not be my last. Normally, I'd share this type of thing on my local moms' listserv, but in this case, I'm afraid of the competition.  I'll be happy to share my tip when my moving days are behind me.  Yep, I'm selfish.

After a complicated, emotional and not ready for public consumption chain of events, we are preparing to list our house.  This means sorting then purging or storing most of the items we've accumulated in the last five years. It has been a draining process.  Boxes of C's notebooks and photos?  Storage.  9" cake pans?  Don't touch them.  Bundt pan?  Fine, put it in storage.  Kids?  Leave them here.  Most of their toys?  Send them to "the big closet" under cover of darkness.

"Mommy," Mirabella said, "where's my pony?"  She was referring to the large and very nice rocking horse her grandparents got her for her birthday.  She loves it.  But it and I had been engaging in a ridiculous daily dance.  Move it so I could get into the closet, move it back in front of the closet, repeat about 7 times per day.  When Mirabella was at the park with her aunts, I loaded it in the truck for storage.  No one told her.  But later that day, she asked about his whereabouts.  "Did you bring it to the big closet, Mommy?"  She asked pointedly.  I told her her pony was on...vacation, until we got to the bigger house.  She visited him in the closet.  It turned out okay.  But now every time she can't find a toy she's misplaced, she says, "You putted it in the big closet, Mommy?" I find her tone accusatory.

This move comes with mixed emotions, in large part because we have finally found community in our neighborhood.  And by found I guess I mean we finally committed and sought it out instead of leaving all the time.  The wonderful Irish couple several doors down knows something's up.  We had the honor of celebrating St. Patrick's Day with them, on their first night away from their four-month-old.  A series of decidedly un-Irish drinks for him (Long Island iced tea and a "very nice" mojito) and a cosmopolitan for her.  It was a good night.  Daniel didn't dare mention we would be moving sooner than later. "I didn't want to ruin it," he said.

When we rented a (heavily branded MOVING) truck several days later to move the remains of our basement to storage, we ducked in and out of the house while loading as if we were doing something wrong.  He asked, "Ye moving?" 

"Haha, no," I said, "Not yet."

Last week Amy, my sister-in-law, volunteered that she was helping us pack some things up.

"They seem to be doing a lot of that lately; are they moving?"

"I don't kno-ow," Amy said, coyly.  We have some explaining to do.

It's not that we actively haven't told.  I think it's more that we're having trouble adjusting to the idea ourselves.  The empty spaces and apple boxes are helping to hammer it home, though.  Wherever that is.