It's done, mostly.
We've been living in the new house for a little more than a week and it's been an adjustment. The kids have been fine going from sharing a room to having their separate corners to fight from. My husband has been fine coming back to the home he spent his adolescence in. I'm the one still trying to adjust, despite calling this house home.
It's me. It's always me.
But this time I know what's holding me back and it's the clutter.
This is the numero uno reason I hate moving - or change - of any sort. My shit gets put in boxes, my PartyLite junk gets wrapped up and set aside, the washer is constantly cleaning something but the dressers stay empty.
You'd think since I have such an issue with clutter that moving would be the mecca I strive toward - those simple times where I can pack everything up and just take out what I want to use RIGHT NOW. Not so. I tend to pack and then unpack everything because I'm brilliant and don't label boxes. I can't tell you how many times I've opened the box in the spare bedroom that has my breast pump, bottles and Baby Bullet in it. Multiple times, I can tell you that. And I'd love to label it, but the question always hits me, "What if we have another baby and I need all that stuff and then I have a random labeled empty box?" I mean, really, I can't put anything else in there when it clearly states "Breast pump/bottles/baby feeding stuff," can I?
Don't answer that.
It's obvious I could never be a gypsy.
The last couple of months I've been trying to focus on moving things over here and unpacking or decorating as I go, which eliminated the box-labeling conundrum, and it worked for the most part. Then we made the big push to get the furniture over here and all our clothes. I was smart about that, regardless of my inability to Sharpie a cardboard box, because each person's clothes went into a duffel bag and then as soon as dressers were in bedrooms, the kids clothes were in drawers and hanging in the closets. Let's not talk about my bedroom (which is driving me crazy).
The furniture moving part is what started the clutter-bug-in-need-of-anger-management ball rolling ... again. We focused on that, so now my once cleared of all crap desk is topped with anything and everything but my computer and typical work items. While we were moving furniture in, I let the stacks of boxes filled with out grown baby clothes sit idle and now the towers look like semi-permanent fixtures in the dining room. Each day they don't get sorted, I pray the kids don't try to reenact King Kong. I have yet to unpack my office supplies or find a home for the food dehydrator. Let's not even get on the subject of the other house, which still needs to be cleaned top to bottom and listed for sale.
And while all this needs to be done, I have three pecks of apples, some pears, a couple quarts of Concord grapes and a pint of plums I'd rather be doing something with.
I learned my lesson when it comes to turning a blind eye to the mess - it makes everything worse. I'm in no position to emotionally shut down. Not when there are so many things demanding my attention. I'm a decent multi-tasker, but not nearly good enough to sort old clothes for the Rescue Mission while making jams and jellies and homemade applesauce to can up and also give the girls the attention they've been seeking so badly for the last week. Maybe the Boy's week long training for work will be a benefit to me after all, even though every time I think about it I groan inwardly because of how lonely my nights will be while he's away. An entire week of trying to warm my own feet when I get into bed? How will I survive!?
Perhaps this will be an opportunity for me to find balance, the one thing I always have trouble finding. Cold feet or not, this house is bound to get organized before it gets worse.
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