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.