Moving Out

 We've all heard the semi-quoted statistics... "they say moving is more stressful than [insert traumatic life event]".  We have a contract on our old house which calls for a move date 4 weeks away, but the new house owners push that date for everyone out 2 more weeks. I start getting quotes from movers, because asking a bunch of older lady friends to help us move is, well, not going to happen.  Quite frankly, I am relieved we have aged out of the days of calling in huge favors from friends with strong backs and non-replaced joints.  I find a mover that's much cheaper than most and cement in the date by slapping down money.  Trent didn't want to pay the extra so we opt to pack ourselves.  

I made my first purchase of boxes and tape at U-Haul.  Yes, this statement needs its own paragraph. You consider your house that first time in U-Haul and estimate how many boxes you need. Our house is relatively tidy, as I've made it my life goal not to keep tchotchke and to thin out personal belongings.  I estimate 20 boxes but buy the bundle of 25 to get the discount.  The employee assures me I can return any I don't use.  This is great, as surely I will be returning boxes.  Why does everyone know how this story will go but me?  Oh how we self-delude.  Early on I remember even telling a friend that I had packed all my personal stuff (sewing, painting, music supplies along with my few books) into 3 boxes and felt I was almost done. 

At this point I feel the move process is mostly on hold.  Having packed my THREE BOXES I can't really go any further as we still have 5 weeks to use the few items left to pack.  [Haha, silly me]. I even go up to Maine with friends for 4 days, being that far ahead of my game. On the drive back from Maine I get a call from the realtor asking us to bring our move date forward by 2 weeks to accommodate the new house sellers.  Eeeeekkk!!!... but okay.  Honestly, this is a bit exciting to me.  We are in this period of 'in-between' and just want it over with. I call the movers, who sneak me into a new set of pick up and drop off dates.  This is followed by calls to the lender and utility companies with the new schedule. I do very well with change.  Trent, to make a long story short, does not. He hasn't begun to rehome anything or to pack and this makes me itchy, but he has a plan. That must now be put into action.

Four or five years earlier Trent wanted to have a yard sale, against my "better judgment" earned during the previous sale I slogged through.  The storage orifices of our house are stuffed with discarded items, detritus retained for the yard sale. It rains for 14 Saturdays straight.  When the yard sale finally happens, almost everything is free or $1.  I vow nothing will come back in.  And it doesn't. At the end of the day I have bleeding sores on my feet and a sun-chapped face.  I'm dehydrated and approaching speaking in tongue.  It's a massive yard sale.  Thousands and thousands of items go. And I meet some cool folks to boot. Then we clean up and drag ourselves out to a nice restaurant as it's also our wedding anniversary. 

Trent starts packing his garage belongings and we go back to U-Haul for fifty more boxes and several rolls of tape.  A few days later I go to pack up household items and find there are no boxes.  I go back for fifty more boxes, then I go back for even more tape.  I do the depressing math... the cost of all these boxes against the extra charge for the movers to pack us.  Guess we have moved beyond the days of stopping at the liquor store on the way home for a few free boxes. Eighteen years in one place will do that to do.  We realize we have just as much stuff outside as inside, and I am more than happy to not move much of any of it. Facebook Marketplace becomes my constant companion.  People are offering me $1000 on a painting I ask $25 for... I may be pricing things too low, and I may be a little trigger happy with that sell button on the app.  I never take more than I asked initially, and I meet many more cool people.  Everything goes within a couple hours of each post. 

The closings are back-to-back.  We picture ourselves in our two vehicles riding into the parking lot at the title company Beverly Hillbilly-style with the family cat in a cage strapped to the roof.  The movers sent a helpful list of what they won't take - food, outdoor and other loose items, our mowers, snowblower, weed wacker, chainsaws, power washer, stock tank pool, bikes, gardening gear, personal papers, jewelry and items of high value, pets, etc. We have to be completely out of our old house, sign papers, then we can go to our new house. So theoretically all these items are going into our two vehicles.  Ultimately we hear back from the new house owners that we can drop a load of outdoor items the night beforehand.  Major phew!

We near the move date, and shockingly, I go back for a handful of boxes and more tape. Twice more.  Trent attacks the oversized burn pile in the yard.  More often than not I reach for something that I already packed - this means we are close to done.  I make floor plans to post for the movers at the new house and label each box in the top right corner of where it should go.  And I scrub out all my cabinets.  The movers come and we are shocked at the small truck they pack all our boxes into.  The size of the truck is mocking our distress in what we just went through to pack. There is not much furniture, since I sold so much off.  We are left to (not) sleep on an icy cold air mattress that doesn't hold air.  We are exhausted but call up the troops on reserve in our minds and bodies.  I once again church-lady-clean the old house. The dogs go to the boarders for 24 hours.  Our new house walk-through is the night before the closing and we intend to make two trips over with outdoor stuff.  A flat tire ensues however and we are too beaten down to get the least bit phased.  We walk through the new house, which is much more moldy than it was for the showings.  I lose steam, feel deflated just like the tire and the air mattress.  Now I don't want to be here - I am leaving "there" (the old house) and don't want "here". We end up only getting one load over to the house, which we unload in the dark with help from the starving mosquitoes.  

The morning of the closing our walk-through on the old house is very early, so I rise earlier to start deflating and packing the air mattress and bedding, bath supplies, and all the food.  We can't find Kitty, our escape artist.  When I am frantically trying to clean out the fridge, soaking wet and standing in a puddle, the buyers arrive and start asking questions.  I outsmart the cat, get her in the kennel.  We scream into the closing late but that at least goes relatively smoothly.  

I only sob at the end.