Welcome home Muse

Photo by Pascal Thauvin

This is my first post from my new home.  A few words on moving . . .

Stuff

As in, so much stuff!
To explain, waaaayyyy back when we began this whole process in November, I started by staging our old home to sell.  Staging meant going room by room (closet by closet) and boxing up anything we didn't need.  Bookshelves were emptied, but for a few favorite pictures and books.  Clothes that hadn't seen the light of day since before my first pregnancy were weeded out (except my wedding dress, which I'm saving for a special roller coaster ride).  Toy boxes were pared down to the bestest of the best toys.  Kitchen cabinets were put on a diet.  Seriously, who needs three 13"x9" baking dishes?  All the excess was put in boxes and shoved in the garage.

I can honestly say that we missed very little of what was in the boxes, with the exception of that one time I needed three 13"x9" sheet cakes simultaneously and had to settle for just the one.  Eight months and we didn't miss a thing.

Sadly, all that excess was packed onto the moving truck and trotted in through the doors of the new house.  I'm wondering if it is tacky to have a "Just Moved In" garage sale to get rid of it all.  Nothing says, "Meet the new neighbors," like piles of our crap out for display on the driveway.

During the transition time between one place and this one, I've realized I don't need all that stuff.  Moving helped me reevaluate.  Keep what is good in life and move on from the bad - or even the so-so, because life's too short for, "eh."

My shelves still hold only my favorite photos of family and friends.  And there is just a handful of favorite clothes hanging in my closet.  You know, the ones that make me feel like me.  Not the ones that make me feel like I'm trying to be me.  As for the kids' toys, well, here's hoping they've also learned to value what they love best.  If so, stuffed animals are $.50 each.

Bruises

Here's a little moving tip.  Don't try to move an 8' tall, solid oak bookcase all by yourself.  And if you do, don't try to keep it from tipping over on you by using just your tricep.  I'm just saying.

Moving can leave bruises.  Big, ugly, looks-like-I-got-in-a-bar-fight bruises.  But they fade.  The one on my tricep is already a lovely shade of yellowish-green.  Pretty.

Adjust

On the first night in the new house, I was frantically moving furniture around (see note about bookcase above) trying to make it all fit properly.  Hubster came home from work and shook his head when he saw my bruises, like, "And you're supposed to be so smart."  Moving furniture is easier with a buddy.

Put that here.  (grunting as he moves big-ass hutch)
No, there.  (grimace as hutch finds new home)
Wait.  (slight grinding of teeth)
It was better back there.  (shake of head again)

At one point in time, hubster could see I was really starting to lose it.  I had to fess up and admit it was frustrating.  I was trying to make everything conform to life in the old home.  The new home is laid out differently, and what fit in one place won't work here.  No matter how many times I move it.

In the end, I had to learn to adjust.  To change.  Shift.  Now everything is where it should be.  Maybe not the same as it was, but pretty good for now.

On a final note, I have to adjust to the noises my new washing machine makes.  Weird.  I've gotten up to check on the poor thing five times while writing.  Apparently that strange whirring sound is not the countdown to blast off.  Good to know.  Still, I think I'll check it one more time because, Holy Laundry, Batman!  It's beeping!