A moving story

Ugh. I’ve put if off for long enough, I guess. The trauma is still fresh. Why do you think it’s taken me so long to update this site? Moving. And now I’m throwing my arms up in the air and rolling my eyes and shouting, MOVING! It’s awful. Truly, truly horrendous.

I used to move all the time. Every year. On the first day of August, my parents and I would move all my college possessions from one apartment to an identical apartment across town. And it always would turn out that my current-roommates and I would rent on the top floor. Meaning lots of stairs. So when my relationship with Chris got serious in college, my father fist-pumped the air and rejoiced, YOU! You are going to be the one to move my daughter’s heavy furniture from one penthouse to the next! Welcome to the family!

But then, nine years ago, Chris and I decided to start the rest of our lives together in Asheville, and we did what any normal newlyweds do:  We bought our first house. And to us, as that time, with a tiny chocolate lab puppy, we thought that place was a palace. But then we had two kids. And then we were tightrope walking around all the toys and gear that come with little people.

So it was time to upgrade. And after a long time searching, we found this perfect little spot in the area of town we really, really wanted. And now we can’t wait to make this place ours. And so far, everyone has really adjusted exceedingly well to this transition. Well, almost everyone. Ruby is still wandering from room to room and finds interesting hiding spots within the house we are still trying to figure out. Two days ago I found her in our shower. And she loves to escape from us by sneaking herself under one of Taylor’s beds.

And, you know, moving across town is way more harrowing than moving from one coast to the other. Because when you make the commitment to relocate to another time zone, you hire professional help and are required to be organized. Our move from one house to another that is a mere 12 minutes away was a total dumpster fire. We were so unorganized and had no real gameplan, other than Chris insisting we be sleeping there on that Saturday night.

And I am certain I mentioned how productive it was to pack with Luke in the room, right? He was a big, big help. So we really waited until the complete last minute to pack up the house. And when Saturday morning came along, I was instructed to take the kids and leave, in order to give Chris and the people who were suckered into helping us some room to transport all of our belongings from one place to another. Poor guys. Needless to say, my husband was extremely sore the next few days.

So I packed up Taylor and Luke early that morning and took them on an adventure. First stop, Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Next stop, Kohl’s to pick out new comforters for Taylor’s room, and where Luke proceeded to ride out his syrup-high by leveling several hand towel displays. Next stop, Target to look for organizing units, and where Taylor wouldn’t stop talking about how much she needed a new toy for the entire errand. Next stop, Crazyville. I was running on very little sleep and just couldn’t take the constant in-and-out of the car dance with two tired kids. But when I threw in the towel, I realized I didn’t have a home base to take my monsters, as all of our furniture was en route.

And that’s where my hell began. So I opted to go to the old house, and tried to put Luke down for a nap on one of Taylor’s new comforters on the floor of the nursery. Yeah... No way was that happening. He kept running into the other bedroom and trying to tackle Taylor and I, and since the air was shut off because we were moving everything, the entire house was hot and muggy and sticky, especially with two children laying on top of you.

So I decided to put both kids in the air conditioned car and drive slowly from the east side to the north side. And by the time I got to our new house, both kids were snoozing and I wasn’t sweating anymore. But then I was assaulted by the sight of about ninety-percent of my belongings in random boxed pyramids throughout our new, massive two-car garage. And I just sat in the drive way and tried to savor those fleeting anxiety-free moments. Because now I have to UNPACK. And organize a whole new house. Strange closets, different shaped cabinets and foreign drawers. Alright, let’s go! Let’s move into this new house!

And I did get a few rooms started before leaving for the beach. And after returning from my five days of bliss and zero-responsibility, I walked into a disaster zone. It was staggering, and I basically avoided the house for the next 48 hours. But then I started digging into boxes and dispersing all of our items into their new spaces.

We haven’t done any repairs or fix-ups to the new place yet, as all of our – read: Chris’s – spare-time for projects is being delegated to sprucing up and selling our first house. But we have moved some of our essential, basics into their temporary spots. And here’s a random compilation of photos I recently took, and some captions, of the progress at our new house.

View of our side yard off our upstairs porch.

Luke showing off his climbing skills on our new table and chairs in the dining room.

My kitchen, complete with the first oven ever made. It's vintage. 

Look at all that countertop space! It's literally double of what I had in the old house.

Yes. I LOVE my kitchen. It was the first room I unpacked.

I even have fancy glass-fronted cabinets. I all grows up!

Hallway to our bedrooms.

Stairs down to the basement. Garage to the left, greatroom to the right, which also has an office, half-bathroom, laundry room and storage room.

Taylor's bedroom.

Luke's bedroom.

The master bathroom. Chris and I had been sharing a jack-and-jill bathroom with the kids at the old house, so this is heaven for us. 

Ah. Home sweet home. A total work-in-progress, but we can't wait to make it ours.