Thursday, 18 June 2015

Moving House - it's a Rollercoaster

Moving house is nothing more than an assault on your emotions, highs and lows.  From 'you're moving' to 'you're not moving' to 'you've just exchanged, congratulations', in a matter of hours, my body is unsure what to do with itself thanks to the mass of adrenaline and emotions that's ran through over the last few days.  But come Saturday morning we had the keys to our new home and basked in that Newly Wed feeling you get when it's just the two of you experiencing something just about the two of you - for those few precious hours at least.  We took our time and had a proper look around our new home, in all the nooks and crannies we missed; a nose in the wardrobes I was too polite to look in properly during viewings; pointing out what we'd like to change, what furniture will go where.  We spent our first night on a borrowed futon, with a bed picnic and champagne in hand (I had the foresight to pack the essentials which included a bottle of the good stuff and two glasses- but not cutlery - oops).  We giggled like little kids on Christmas Eve, a little drunk, a lot happy.

Having emptied our temporary home the following day our new home still felt clean, empty perfect.  We brought our children and pets - perfection remained, despite the lack of cooking implements.  With huge excitement Wednesday arrived along with all our belongings which had been in storage for the last 11 weeks.

Here's the thing.  You only realise just how much crap you have when you are faced with six storage crates full of cardboard boxes and furniture.  That's a whole lot of crap.  Our new home is now covered in packing tape, boxes and dust and the only respite is the.... no wait, there isn't one.  We've gone from blissed out minimalism to 'oh shit, we've got to unpack' in the space of a couple of hours.  I've never felt so overwhelmed as I do now, thinking back to the viewing and how perfect everything looked, and when we first moved in, full of optimism and excitement.  Now all I can see are the marks on the carpet, the furniture that doesn't fit and the dust on our things.  Not to mention the wardrobe boxes full of clothes but no wardrobes for them to live in.  How are we every going to make this place home, how we're faced with the reality of what needs doing?

It's nothing short of chaos.

Our shed load of stuff arrives





In an effort to make the house livable for the boys I took over 27000 steps yesterday emptying boxes, making beds, moving things around.  And at the end, I still had 52 boxes to unpack. 52 bloody boxes!! I know because we had to pay a £100 deposit on them. (No Seth, you can't have another space rocket, those damned bits of cardboard cost a bloody fortune!).

It's only now, as I've sat down to write this that I've realised I need to get a grip.  Yes, I'm knackered, I can't find my pants and I can't be doing with mess - it's wrecking my head - but we have the home we've worked so hard for, for so long.  Which is precisely why it hurts when I see it broken and seemingly unloved.  But it's ours and the long hours to come of not only unpacking but then decorating pouring over paint and wall paper samples, applying for planning permission and trying to find somewhere for all the bloody toys will be worth it when we can look around and feel only one thing - Pride.

On the bright side, the boys loved all the picnics!!

Best of Worst