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Well, sort of. I mean, we live at our new house, and all. But, WOW, I forgot what a mess moving is! And! I didn’t have a job for our last, um, four moves. So now I feel like it’s taking ages to get through every box. I did not get Eriana’s room completed by the time we moved in. She’s doing okay, though. She likes the new house, and her bed is purple and pink and her room is purple. She’s got a bunch of toys back about which she’d forgotten. She’s better than I feared, it what I’m saying.

(Of course, she got a double ear infection, a stomach bug, and her allergies attacked all at once, so she’s been home from school for the last three days. But she’s getting over that.)

Right now we are living in a sea of cardboard. We have an entire closet spilling over into the spare room full of stuff to take to Goodwill. We have at least two more trips to the old apartment to get everything, plus we have to clean it top to bottom this weekend. We have till the 24th, which seemed like a long time until now because it’s the 16th and… that’s not a long time. Where did all of this stuff come from? Why did we bring all of this stuff with us? Why do we have a full closet of stuff to give away and still have boxes that need to be emptied? Good gracious.

PLUS! On Thursday (you know, moving day) night, I pushed the button for the garage and the door went almost halfway down, made a very loud banging noise, and went back up. It didn’t hit the car (that was out of the way), and it didn’t fall off the tracks, thank goodness. The panel that holds the motor thing to the door broke off, and the top section of the door cracked. So. That’s awesome. So I made a work order, and someone came and said it would probably need to be replaced. Then, THEN, when I hadn’t heard back from the apartment office in a couple of days I called the office and the guy who had put in the work order had the gall to ask if we hit the door. He said, “Well on your move in form you said the door was working. So did you maybe back into it with your car?” First of all, I think I would remember doing that. And second of all, the damage to the door is not such that would have been caused by hitting it with a vehicle. And THIRD of all, nope! Come check my cars, Dude. I said, “Well the garage door was working. We didn’t, like, check every screw and examine each panel of the door.” Do you do that when you move into a new place? Whatever. They have a vendor coming out tomorrow to see what will need to be done for repairs.

So I don’t know when I will be able to post pictures of our house, but I won’t until it is clear of boxes and decorated. Only one piece of furniture wouldn’t fit upstairs (YAY! I FEARED IT WOULD BE MORE!), so our “guest” room is sort of a mess, what with the piles of stuff to donate, the couch we need to sell, and a huge armoire that wouldn’t fit upstairs. But I will happily share pictures of our home once I’ve put my decorator’s mark (ha!) on it. So far we’ve made one trip each to Home Depot (paint and supplies!), IKEA (new dresser (since our armoire wouldn’t fit upstairs)! New bookshelf! Meatballs! Little things we needed!), and Target (new soap dispenser for Eriana’s bathroom!) just for house-related stuff. I’m sure those numbers will go up soon.

But! We have beds to sleep in, and dishes to eat from, and food to cook. The mass amounts of storage in our new house are great! But! Lots of cabinets and few drawers. So that’s going to take some creativity. Plus everything is made for tall people. Or at least average-height people. Basically the counters are high and the upper cabinets are high. I need a step stool. And, also: I haven’t lived in a home with stairs since 2003. I’m not a super-fan of stairs. Living here will either guarantee I only live in one-story homes for the rest of my life, or be a stair-climbing master. Three stories. THREE stories. That’s taking some getting used to.

Anyway! Let’s see some pictures of my kid, shall we? Okay.

“Helping” paint her bed pieces.

Sitting in the “perfect place for [her] booty” at brunch.

What is your best moving story? (Good or bad.)

 


2 Comments

  1. Becky
    April 17, 2014 05:46

    My best (worst?) moving story was when I was a single lady, age 22ish. My family came to help me move, because of course, and my dad was helping me take apart my bed. Lo, we uncovered my favorite bra! So of course, I was super excited because I’d lost it months ago. And then came the question: “How did it get there?” Um. Uh. Hmm. “Ohhh, hey, look, pizza’s here!” *runs out of room*

    OMG.



  2. K
    April 17, 2014 08:22

    I am snorting at your hatred of stairs. I love it.

    And moving blows. Weird bruises and achy muscles and stuff EVERYWHERE. Not a fan.



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