Will We Be Ready When the Kids Arrive?

Two steps forward, and one step back. That about summarizes each day. Last week I got all the odds and ends off the kitchen island. It felt great to finally have that space exactly as I wanted it. Then, we got a couch, and rearranged the living room. Odds and ends that had been placed on a table that was no longer in the living room, suddenly found themselves on the kitchen island. And so it goes. Each day, I focus on one room and get stuff just the way I want it. But another room is holding the leftovers. When I work on that room, where do the odds and ends go? On the island. It seems like a never ending process.

By Noon Each Day

We are hitting the final stretch.

Truthfully, I can't complain about how it is going. We are making progress. In fact, I think we are almost there! But then I look at the kitchen island and I think, "two steps forward and one step back!"

In the beginning, unpacking is rather daunting, but moves fairly smoothly. 200+ boxes are stacked throughout the house, waiting, intimidating me, challenging me to pick one! I start in the kitchen. Most of the stuff I unpack finds a home. A few things are relegated to "the pile". "The Pile" holds stuff I'm not sure of. Will it find a home, or will it be set aside for a yard sale?

Two weeks later, my reality is different. "The Pile" would like to have a room all to itself. It is no longer a few boxes, but many boxes. Half of it is definite yard sale stuff. The other half is hoping I will find a home for it. An old friend called my stuff "chotzkes". Larry calls it.... no, we won't go there. But even I admit most of my stuff is trinkets connected with memories.

I am not in this alone, though! Oh no. Larry has his share of stuff. He just has an oversized two-car garage to pack it into, while I have a loft the size of a postage stamp with a small closet.

Then there is OUR closet. That's a whole other story. We've gone from two walk-in closets to one. It's a bit bigger than the ones we each had, but it's not as big as our two. And it is full. One thing we have in common is our collection of shirts. We both collect shirts.

Larry's collection is shirts he can wear to work. He has enough starched shirts hanging in clear, plastic laundry bags, to last him a month. I'm not exaggerating. It was not unusual for him to have two weeks worth of shirts at the cleaners and another two weeks worth packed in a suitcase as he traveled. And his closet was never empty!

On the other hand, I was an elementary school teacher. My collection is T-shirts. I have shirts from all 4 schools I worked at, in several colors, and many with my name on them. Then there are all the 'event' shirts I would want for school activities: Every season, holiday, Patriotic, even theme shirts for social studies units like Native Americans. Don't forget the shirts I need for the Corvette Club, or Nascar Race. And of course my Buccaneer and Steeler shirts. I can't possibly give up my Mike Alstott or Ronde Barber jersey!

Yes, we are both guilty.

And then there are the photos.

Ah yes. The photos. First of all, my dad was an amateur photographer who developed all of his own pictures. While I never learned how to do that from him, I did learn to take a lot of pictures. When he passed on, my sisters and I divided up all of his photo albums, which of course I still have, along with all of my own photos.

Most of all, I learned to love photographs in my house. There are boxes of framed photographs all waiting for a new place to perch. It's not going to happen. And so the hard process begins.

Organizing specialists say the first task is to separate trash from treasure. Granted, in these boxes of photos from over 70 years ago, there is plenty of trash. But there are a lot of treasures in there too. Do I hear Snapfish calling?

Some organizers recommend taking a picture of the object that holds the memory and then giving the object away. As I look at the boxes and bins of pictures I have stacked against the wall, that sounds like it's own type of oxymoron. And I think I'd be a moron to do it!

All of this is just a way of saying that when my kids show up this week (YIKES!) they will find one side of our wrap around porch lined with boxes of stuff for them to grab before it goes the way of all things once desired but no longer needed. And that will be one giant step forward for this person who believes that while history lives in the object, not just in the photo of the memory, sometimes history has to take its natural place in the world. That is, it is history! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye!

And the never ending process? I think we ended it! We are UNPACKED!!! In just 23 days!

(Hmm, I wonder if that is a record? It is for me. If Guinness had been here they could have either documented it or at least handed me a cold Guinness as a reward. I think we'll go get a couple and toast ourselves! We did it!)

A Slow Moving Process

It's no secret life has been a bit crazy lately. So much is going on I haven't had time to think. We've moved. That part is over! Now we are unpacking. And unpacking. And unpacking.... oh, did I mention? We are unpacking. Does it ever end??

Tonight, I sit here in my new house. It's a cabin, really. Very rustic. About 1/2 the size of the home we moved from. I'm trying to collect my thoughts. I've heard it said that Geniuses work well under chaotic conditions. They have so much going on in their heads that to work in an organized environment is very hard for them. Once again, I have proof that I am not a genius! I can't think when my environment is too far out of sync.

During the move, and over the last week lots of comparisons, thoughts, reminiscences have crossed my mind, but I was unable to stop what I was doing to write a post. It turns out, when there is a lot to be done, writing takes a back seat. At night, I collapse and look at my computer like a zombie. Even if I can think, I'm afraid to start writing for fear I will be up for the next 2 hours when I really need to go to bed.

So hear is the update. The good news is that most of the boxes have been unpacked. The better news is that my kitchen, which is about 1/3 the size of my last one, has been set up and is working very well! On the other hand, the yard sale pile is growing. We knew we had more to get rid of, but it was hard to do until we actually got here.

I've stated before, that I hate to move. I have to admit, I'm not sure exactly why I hate it. Truthfully, moving is an adventure. There are new people to meet, new places to see, an opportunity to reboot my life, or join new groups and participate in new activities. On the other hand, moving means saying goodbye to all those things I came to enjoy about my current home. And it is a total disruption to my life. The most obvious is moving away from friends and a home I love. Listing a house and having to keep it in pristine condition while working or raising kids isn't fun. Then there is the packing. That is a huge job, but over the years, we have had movers do the lion share of the packing for us. At the other end of moving is the unpacking. Right now, it is the part I hate most.

Unpacking is a mix of adventure, discovery, frustration and wonder....that moment when you just say "Huh?"

There is the satisfaction of unpacking a box and finding places for everything. There is the frustration of not being able to find something I know must be here, but which box? Then there is that AHA moment when it is finally found. This move it was the DVD player and all the remotes. We discovered them nicely tucked into the bedding from the master bedroom. We would have found it sooner, if we were using that room. Instead it was the VERY LAST box unpacked.

There is the wonder at unpacking something I can't imagine ever having kept, like an empty jar.

So far my favorite find is a tall, narrow 1 quart empty jar. I can see keeping a wide mouthed jar, but I have no idea why I ever held onto this jar!

Best of all, there is the surprise at unpacking something I forgot I had, like an old momento that had been tucked away. Unwrapping that suddenly brings back warm memories of an event long forgotten. Like this little photo album my dad kept of all of us as children, as well as his grandchildren.

That's me at ages 5 and 4

The best part of this move is that after nine times, Larry is by my side, working just as hard as I am. That is a first. Every other time we have moved, he would go to work and I would unpack the boxes, one at a time, one day at a time. This time it is a team effort. And I think we are winning.

One day at a time...one box at a time.