Posts tagged ‘Moving’

August 22, 2011

That Box

Today we’ve been in our new apartment for three full weeks.  It feels good to be almost completely unpacked and settled in.  I know some of you want to see photos, and we’re almost there, really.  There’s just one obstacle.

 

That box.

 

Or in our case, those boxes.

 

Having moved three times in two years, I’m very familiar with That Box. It’s the last box you pack, and the last one you want to unpack.  It’s the content of the junk drawer or junk shelf or junk whatever you have, and you’re convinced in this new life in this new place, there’s no room for a junk drawer or whatever.  But you need it.  Because right now, you have a junk box.  And a junk box is even uglier than a junk drawer.

 

What’s worse than a junk box?  Three junk boxes.  One for each of three rooms.  I’ve unpacked at least half of every one of these, and now I’m tempted to dump them all together into one.  But I know eventually I’ll have to sort through them all again, which would be silly and a waste of time.  As frustrating as it is to still not be completely unpacked, it just doesn’t make sense to mix the extra wall hooks with the extra toothpaste or the books I would put in a nightstand if I had one.  It seems my sanity loses either way:  either everything is jumbled together or I have to look at the clutter of a medium-sized Home Depot moving box in half the rooms of our new home.  I know it could be worse, but it’s still kind of a bummer.

 

Since we moved, the kitchen table has functioned as a catchall for the random bits that are out of boxes but not yet in their places.  As I type now, I realize this table is completely clear for the first time in weeks. Ah, it feels good to look up and see bare wood.

 

Until I look to my left.  And see that I’ve created a junk top-of-the-microwave because we needed room for dinner with family tonight.  I think junk top-of-the-microwave is even worse than a junk box or three, just for its stealthiness.  I can look from the living room into the kitchen and think for a moment that things are cleaned up, but as my eyes swoop around the room . . . fail.  Yet again.

 

John and I were talking about my birthday earlier.  It’s just a week away.  He asked if there was anything I wanted to do to celebrate.  Is it lame to want help in cleaning up the junk?  If it is, I don’t really think I care.  Call me an old lady, call me over the hill in my mid-twenties.  Let’s just get These Boxes out of here!

August 8, 2011

A Word to the Wise

Dear parent readers,

 

A word to the wise.  If your pediatrician recommends that your child see an allergist for his scary reactions to certain foods, make an appointment sooner rather than later.  Especially if later means five days before you move, when you will be swept up in compulsively organizing, packing, and unpacking for a solid two weeks.

 

I say this because it may turn out that your child has more extensive food allergies that you suspected, even if you and your husband have none.  And that may mean that you need to change both your and your child’s diets rather drastically.  That might stress you out, and you really don’t need that when you’re trying to move your family, even if your new home is only a couple of blocks away from your old one.  Remember, a cranky mom makes for a cranky baby, and a cranky baby makes for poor sleep at night, poor sleep makes for cranky mom, and so on.  You get the idea.

 

As a side note, if you have something you update regularly, like, say, a blog, it’s likely that will suffer from the situation as well.

 

Don’t worry too much, though.  Everything will sort itself out soon enough.  Remember that God always provides, and recognize that in sharing what you’ve learned you might help others, too.  Either way, what’s best for your child comes first, no matter what.  But you don’t have to make it harder than it needs to be.  I’m just saying.

 

More soon, friends.  Until then,

Young Married Mom

August 3, 2011

And the Verdict Is . . .

When I first learned we’d have to move, I started to wonder whether it would be easier to move while eight months pregnant or with a ten-month-old child.  We’ve now done both, and the verdict is . . .

It is easier to move with a ten-month-old child, more specifically, a ten-month-old child who cannot yet walk on his own (but can crawl around, gnaw on boxes, and try his darndest to climb floor lamps).

My reasons are as follows:

  1. This is fairly obvious, but once the child is born, other people can hold him.  That means the mom can hold other stuff.  Perhaps too much of a given to be stated explicitly, but there you go.
  2. When caring for a ten-month-old child (and not simultaneously pregnant), one can lift boxes of all shapes and sizes without being reprimanded by one’s family.  Also, the phrase “caring for a ten-month-old child” is secret mommy code for “look how toned my arms are,” which is doubly helpful when one plans to put one’s entire life into and out of boxes in the span of about two weeks.
  3. For me, being pregnant meant being sleepy. Caring for Jacob makes me tired, too, but now I’m very focused on what I can do during his naps that would be dangerous for him to be around otherwise, plus there’s too much to clean up at the end of the day for me to go to bed when I should.  This sounds like a bad thing, but really it’s added a couple of hours of work time to my week!
  4. Piggy-backing off #3, nursing said ten-month-old child means that at regular intervals, one must stop everything, sit down, and snuggle for a couple of minutes.  It’s a good idea to sing some hymns, talk to God, and give one’s eyes permission to shut during this time.
  5. When I was pregnant, I was still working in an office full time.  Now I am at home all day.  Because I am surrounded by this giant project and not just thinking about it from midtown while trying to do something else, the process is moving much more quickly this time around.
  6. Finally, because I’ve had almost a year with Jacob (can you believe it?!), I have a pretty good idea of what my lifestyle for at least the next year or two will look like.  Last year, before I’d ever really spent any time with a newborn baby, never mind my own baby, I had no idea what daily life would look like, and thus, what my home should look like.  Now I know it’s full of giggles, hugs, dancing, and reaching for anything in the bottom three feet of our home.  Can you say “shelving”?

Photos are coming soon, really.  It’s not quite box city here anymore; now it’s more like box rural countryside, where cardboard is spread out, but still all over the place.

Wow, weird metaphor.

Anyway, settling in is going very well—and very quickly!  Thanks again, reader friends, for your thoughts and prayers for a smooth transition.  Thus far, that’s exactly what we’ve had.

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