I've been kind of secretive about plans to move. Or at least, after some careful thought and a strategically made Facebook post, that's the way it may appear to some.
Truthfully, I just haven't turned to social media with all my joy/panic moments over the decision because we (Boy Wonder and I) never sat down and did a serious house hunt.
But here it is — after almost five years in this house, we're moving on. It's happening slowly, because if I make a big move and do it too quickly I'll fall apart, and I can't afford to do that all over again. Moving into our current home was almost too much to bear and the clutter utterly consumed me. A lot of days it still does, but that's primarily because we don't have enough space for the amount of things we have. I've been making great strides to cut back on the material things here that are just pure crap we don't need to hold onto, but I can only do so much when we only get 24 hours each day to accomplish what's on my list. And that list is long.
The decision to move was one we made over the course of months. We searched the Internet to see what was in the area but never made appointments to go look, and while we saw some beautiful homes, there was one house we both knew we could move into slowly, one that is the perfect size with a big enough yard on a dead end road. A house that isn't inside village limits (goodbye extra property tax!), but still close enough to "civilization" that it won't take us an hour to get to the closest wholesale store.
I've been channeling my inner June Cleaver and instead of just moving our stuff over there, I'm being smart about this. I've taken several days during the last two weeks to shampoo carpets, I've scrubbed and wiped down cupboards until my fingers were raw — I'm apparently too smart to use gloves when I'm armed with Lysol wipes — and finally swept and mopped at least one room so far.
There are still bedrooms to paint and decorating ideas I need to flesh out, but that will come together with time. I have this dream of at least one room in some nifty Americana theme where I can display the 48-star flag my mom gave me and a promised-to-me 13-star flag from my dad. Visions of milk glass and old oil lamps and an antique pickling crock dance in my head. There's a little girl's bedroom that will be splashed with colors because she can't decide on just one. There's another little girl's bedroom colors or theme we still need to figure out.
I'm literally humming with pent up energy to paint the hell out of what will be our home. All in good time.
What I have gotten done so far is progress. It's a dent, and a small one, compared to all I want to do before we start living at what I've now dubbed "Future Home," so it's a blessing of sorts we've gone this route to purchase from family, despite my longstanding insistence to not mix family with business. This move is such a positive one that I really hope no one has the nerve to come rain on my parade or kill my unicorn or, God forbid, crap on my rainbow. In other words, here is your fair warning: Don't burst my bubble.
I can't imagine what shape I would be in mentally if we purchased a new house from an unknown seller and had to sell this one at the same time ... and move everything and try to settle in while still keeping some semblance of a routine for me and the kids. Let's be real, if I skip going to the gym too many days in a row, I stop feeling so grounded in reality and the kids start getting antsy because they haven't gone and played with all those other children.
And this, readers, is my Friday confession. Oh, and my underwear are laced with glitter. That shit will not go away.
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